The Web
by JulieTranslator
Summary: This is a translation of "Паутина", a Russian fanfic written by Сфинкс (see www.fanfics.ru). Over twenty years have passed. Harry and his friends live happily ever after. Their children are growing and making (sometimes unexpected) choices of their own. Yet, can old wounds really heal? Can unintended consequences truly be damage-controlled?
1. Prologue - Chapter 1 - James Potter

_**Most characters belong to J.K. Rowling, to whom I shall always be grateful for creating a whole new beautiful world!**_

**Beta(s) Needed! If someone can recommend a good beta to help with fixing non-British vocabulary/grammar/style, I'd be tremendously grateful! I speak American English and have had limited exposure to British English in the past 20 years. Any help will be appreciated.**

**Prologue: The Day of the Spider**

_Your life is but a chess match. The figures are all set._

_The fate's tsunami will destroy your castle built on sand._

_And you'll no longer know who's a pawn and who's a knight._

_A moan of guilt-ridden pain shall echo through the night._

_Light, darkness, meetings, partings will fill your heart with strife…_

_A grey and old spider is weaving threads of life._

_**Chapter 1: James Potter.**_

Urgent knock on the window. Faith, how he hated this sound that tore him out of his slumber!

Bright rays of the morning sun shone into the room where a good-looking youth with tousled black hair stirred in his bed. He stubbornly continued to lie with his eyes closed, hoping to sink back into his dream, but the knock recurred. He wanted to pull the blanket over his head – to no avail; it had slipped during the night and lay in a cozy bundle on the floor. Then the youth hugged his bare torso and pulled his knees to his chest, turning away from the window.

They visited him in his sleep once again this night. As a child, when he saw them in his dreams, he simply thought of them as "his pets". The older he became, the more he realised that it was not that simple. He learned to associate their visits with the events of his life.

The first such dream happened on the night his brother was born. He saw a lake, with the vividly yellow full moon reflected in it; he saw the trees growing on a green grassy hillside. They always arrived from the hilltop, although not all of them visited each time.

When his brother was born, all four of them showed up: a big black dog with piercingly blue eyes; a just as imposing grey wolf with yellow eyes and rather shaggy coat; an incredibly beautiful stag with shimmering antlers; and a doe – graceful and delicate, with green eyes, like his father's. He saw them come down the hillside, out of the blue. They were looking at him and smiling. Indeed, smiling – of that he was certain.

Since then he saw them in his dreams many times – at the important and emotional moments of his life. The second time there was only the stag and the dog – this was the day when he first displayed magical abilities by inadvertently knocking aside a neighbor's dog with his glance. The next time the wolf joined them – on the morning the boy received a letter from Hogwarts. Since then they came frequently: on the eve of his birthday, on the night before his first trip to school, after the first flight on his broomstick, after his first Quidditch game for his House, after his first violation of the school rules and the ensuing first punishment. They were in his dreams almost constantly – the dog, the stag, and the wolf.

The doe came rarely – he could count the number of occasions on his fingers. She came alone after he defended a Slytherin boy. No one liked that kid, everyone was picking on him, but he suddenly felt the urge to stick up for him. It happened only once, and he never understood why; yet, the doe spent the entire night on the hillside bathed in the moonlight, smiling at him. Then she didn't come for a long time. However, she joined the invariable trio on the night of his first timid and unskilled kiss and, of course, when he first experienced physical love.

He believed that these animals were the guardians of his sleep and peace of mind, supporting him and somehow sharing in the whirlwind of his young life. He never told anyone about these recurring dreams – they were his secret.

Another knock on the window. Damn! It just _had_ to happen today of all days, just when the doe came for the first time in half a year. Her green eyes shone with tenderness and joy, which made him think that something very important was about to happen today.

The stag came along with the doe. He lay next to her, his head on her back, and slumbered, opening his eyes only occasionally. Then came the big black dog, so cheerful that it took his breath away. The dog wagged his tail, jumped around the stag and the doe; his eyes were alight with laughter and he even winked a couple of times. The wolf was the last to join them. He was calm and not as sad as usual. All of them emanated warmth. And just at the moment when the youth began to emerge from his dream as the knocking slowly penetrating his conscience, his nightly visitors became alert and got to their feet. Was it in alarm? He couldn't tell.

Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock-knock. _I am not getting up. Bugger off!_

"James Sirius Potter!" came a voice from behind the wall. "If this knocking does not cease at once, I'll kill you!"

_Time to get up_, he thought, looking at the ceiling discontentedly with his brown eyes. The youth forced himself to jump off the bed and walk over to the closed window. A black owl perched on the other side of the window was eyeing him with a stubborn and angry expression. Just as angrily, James opened the window and reached for the scroll of parchment that was tied to the bird's foot. The owl hooted reproachfully, but gave up the letter.

James climbed onto the windowsill, enjoying the fresh morning air, unrolled the letter, and grinned. Of course, who else could do something this wicked? The coat of arms topped the lines written in uneven boyish handwriting:

_"Hello, Potter! I couldn't help but wake you up on this magical morning. I hope that you'll be furious at being roused at eight o'clock while on vacation. And for no good reason, too! I came back from Italy last night. Let me know on what date you will be at the Diagon Alley; I can't wait to see you suntanned mug. S.M._

_N.B. This year the Slytherin Quidditch team will bury Gryffindor. Don't forget to polish the Cup – I don't want to see a speck of dust on it!"_

_Prat_, James chortled. He caught sight of the owl, still perched on the windowsill; waiting for an answer, no doubt.

"Get out of here; there'll be no reply," James tried to chase the bird away, but the owl merely clicked his beak. "Ouch, I am so sick and tired of the both of you!"

The youth jumped off the windowsill – prompting an angry punch from the other side of the wall – extracted a piece of parchment and a quill from the pile of stuff on his desk, found an inkwell, and hastily wrote:

_"Go to hell, Malfoy! If I see you today at noon at the Diagon Alley, I'll punch that smug, cocky mug of yours that no tan sticks to. J.P._

_N.B. I have been polishing it for the past four years and I think it will be just as in vain this year. But it's ok – it will look even nicer like this on the Gryffindor common room mantle."_

Satisfied, James sealed the letter and handed it to the owl, who hooted angrily but took off at once and soon disappeared from sight. James climbed onto the windowsill again and with a happy smile looked out the window at the street, where the early August morning reigned supreme. The neighbors were already having breakfast – James knew that Mr. Hopkins always left for work early and his wife walked the dog. And there she was with a huge St. Bernard – it was that dog that had forced James to use magic for the first time.

A half an hour passed. The youth listened to the sounds of the house, but it appeared that everyone was still asleep. This was Father's third day on vacation, so Mother was also asleep – there was no need to get up early to make Dad breakfast and see him off to work. His younger brother was a sleepyhead and must be on his fifth dream from the nightly program for seven-year-olds. And his sister… James grinned, took a Muggle softball off his shelf and threw it at the wall he shared with Lily's bedroom. He caught it, threw it again. After the third time…

"You idiot!" a flaming-red-haired creature in shorts and a T-shirt (with salamander print on them) burst into his room, knocking the door into the wall. "What the devil is keeping you awake?!"

She stood in the middle of the room in full view (the view that started to alarm James this summer). However, now she also looked awesome – her light-green eyes in which the hope for sleep still lingered stared angrily at James. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, which reminded him of their mother when she was furious.

"Good morning, Lil," James smiled, unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck and smoothing his hair. She narrowed her eyes and apparently wanted to say something taunting, but then she saw an opened letter on his desk, where James had tossed it.

"Let me guess what nutter is writing to you at such an ungodly early hour!" she chortled, climbing onto his bed. This indicated to James that his sister calmed down and would not curse him outright.

"Why do you think it's some nutter? Maybe it is a love letter!" James asked indignantly, jumping off the windowsill and grabbing the letter before his sister could read it.

"As if! And who is it who has suddenly burst into a flame of passion for you?" Lily smiled and leaned back onto his pillow, yawning. "As far as I remember, you and Violet have broken up…"

James heaved a deep sigh. He never understood how girls managed to always be in the know. Especially considering that Violet was a year ahead of James and three – of Lily, and was a Ravenclaw.

The youth shook his head and headed for the bathroom, ignoring the smug giggle behind his back.

When he came out of the shower, Lily was no longer in his room. James dropped the towel and went over to his closet to pick out clothes for the day. Finally, having heard from the mirror "I would fall for you if it wasn't for your hair", he decided that he was ready to go down to breakfast. He buckled the belt on his blue jeans, straightened his T-shirt, tucked his wand in his back pocket, and was already walking out the door when the sounds from downstairs made him pause.

His father was laughing in the living room. James thought that he had never heard anyone laugh like that before. His Dad was positively shrieking with laughter. Mystified, James rushed down the steps. Lily caught up with him at the second flight of stairs, also looking slightly frightened. The two of them burst into the living room.

Their father was writhing on the couch, holding his stomach; tears streamed down his face. Their mother stood beside him, holding a sheet of paper. She also seemed to be holding back laughter.

"Daddy…", Lily said carefully, approaching her father, who finally started to get control of himself. She heard her mother begin to laugh behind her. "What happened?"

Lily's father looked at her with his green eyes, squinting a little – he must have taken off his glasses in a fit of laughter and put them on the side table. He was still laughing a little, and his face bore a mixed expression of astonishment and triumph. He turned to Lily's mother, who dropped the letter and burst out laughing as well.

"Well, what's all the merriment about?" James asked finally, walking over to his mother and picking up the letter that seemed to have so amused his parents. Lily looked at him pointedly and he read the strange message aloud. Stranger yet was that the letter was written with a Muggle ball-point pen on a sheet torn out of a notebook:

_"Harry, you are going to be surprised that I am writing to you, but I need your help. My daughter has just turned eleven and two days ago we were paid a visit by one of yours, who brought her a letter. He said that Amanda had been accepted to the school where you went. Could you come over and talk with us? Please come as soon as possible. Your cousin, Dudley Dursley."_

James finished reading and, baffled, looked at Lily, who merely shrugged in response. Meanwhile, their father had once again burst into laughter, occasionally wiping tears from his eyes.

"Are these the Dursleys with whom you lived as a child, Daddy?" Lily asked carefully, trying to bring her father back to his senses. Her mother was now mostly calm, except for an occasional giggle.

Lily's father nodded, panting, looked back at his wife, and they laughed again.

"You mean that this horrible Muggle cousin's of yours daughter is a witch?" Lily managed to ask, a smile slowly spreading across her face. Since they were kids they had been hearing from their mother the stories about their father, the great Harry Potter, growing up with his aunt and uncle, sleeping in the closet under the stairs, and enduring his cousin's bullying.

"Yes, life dealt Dudley a cruel blow," Harry Potter managed to get out – his stomach muscles must be spasmed from laughter. "Poor bloke, I almost feel sorry for him. I wonder, how much guts did it take him to write to me? And, specifically – where did he get an owl?!"

Ginny went over to her husband and ruffled his hair.

"You'll find it all out when you meet with him. You are going to go, aren't you?"

Harry reluctantly nodded. He didn't really want to go back to Privet Drive, but the thought of a girl who might be ostracized at this very moment, just like he had been, did not leave him a choice. Ginny leaned over, kissed his cheek, and headed towards the kitchen.

"If everyone is up, I'll make some breakfast." Her red hair, styled with bobby pins, shone in the sunlight. As his children looked on closely, their father got up from the couch and took the letter from James. Harry's face still bore a trace of amazement.

"By the way, you remember, don't you, that we are going to the Diagon Alley today?" her father looked pointedly at Lily's robe. "The Weasleys promised to come to breakfast, so, Lily, scoot upstairs and change; otherwise, Ron and Hugo will have a stroke."

Lily chuckled, but then got up, kissed her father lightly on the cheek, and ran up the stairs. Harry smiled at James and pointed him in the same direction.

"No, Dad, I am not going to wake up Al", pleaded the youth. His father's unyielding expression let him know that his plea was in vain. James got off the couch where he had just settled comfortably, intending to read the latest issues of the Quidditch magazine, and dragged his feet upstairs to wake up his brother, drag him into the bathroom, and make sure that he brushed his teeth.

James always thought Albus a bit of a freak of nature; yet, he still was just a little boy, who had no idea how to control his magic – things were always flying off and blowing up around him – and who also had a catastrophically short attention span.

James went up the stairs slowly, warming himself with the thought that when Al went to Hogwarts, _he_ would no longer be there. His brother would become someone else's headache. On that cheerful note, he pushed open the door to the room of Albus Severus Potter.


	2. Prologue - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

_**Chapter 2: Lily Potter.**_

A red-haired girl stood smiling before a tall mirror in an ornate frame. The mirror also reflected her room, which she adored – the bed covered with a silk quilt; a graceful rocking chair with a plush toy cat nestling in it; a desk with neatly laid out books, parchments, and multi-coloured quills; and the shelves laden with photographs and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes toys. The walls were covered with Gryffindor banners, posters of actors from Marie-Victoire's magic theater, and Al's drawings.

Lily turned toward a big photograph where her family was assembled. There was grandma Molly – she died almost five years before; grandpa Arthur next to her – his glasses, as always, slightly askew – looking tenderly at his wife; and around them – their red-haired children and grandchildren.

There was Uncle George – Lily adored his long hair that hid his only ear. Next to him was his wife, his daughter Caitlyn, and their four sons. Uncle Bill was hugging Aunt Fleur, so beautiful that Lily sometimes got angry at her, so unfair it seemed. Their daughters were next to them, with Marie-Victoire holding Teddy Lupin's hand. There was Uncle Charlie with his Romanian wife and their twins. Percy was holding his baby daughter in his arms, looking a little embarrassed. She managed to look just like him, even without glasses. Next to him was the lanky Uncle Ron. He was frowning because he had just had an argument with his wife. Hermione – for some reason she had always been just "Hermione" – was smiling slightly, her hand around her daughter Rose's shoulders. Hugo was standing next to Lily's mother – Ginny leaned her head on her husband's shoulder. Harry Potter was looking immensely content. And in front of him was his father's look-alike, James, and Al, then a toddler. Lily herself was at the very edge – she was angry at James that day because of one of his pranks.

Lily smiled at this portrait – everyone was waving and smiling at her – and then looked at the other picture frames. Her favorite photographs stood on that shelf: Mommy and Daddy at the Christmas Ball at the Ministry; Lily, James, and Albus at the "Sweet Kingdom" three years ago; and the photograph of her father's long-dead parents that he had given into her keeping.

Whining in the hallway distracted Lily's attention from the magical photographs. Apparently, Al was out of bed.

Lily returned to the mirror to take another look at her outfit. The sundress with a low waist barely reached her knees. The girl grinned – James would surely have something to say about that, but she didn't care. She would be turning sixteen in four months, and even clothes could no longer conceal the transformation of the recently awkward Lily Potter. She brushed her long flaming-red hair, winked at her reflection, and hurried downstairs. The hallway clock showed almost ten-thirty.

Lily ran lightly down the stairs, fixing the wig on the forest fairy statue's head as she passed the landing. James spread out on the living room couch, his face buried in a magazine. The cover featured moving figures on broomsticks.

"Are you planning to eat breakfast?" Lily asked her brother in passing, headed for the kitchen that emanated the aroma of toast and fried bacon.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," said James slowly from behind his magazine.

"And why is that?" Lily stopped at the corner of the hallway and eyed her brother suspiciously.

"You mean my word is not enough for you?" the youth said, never taking his eyes from the athletes on broomsticks. Lily rolled her eyes and continued towards the kitchen.

Her brother was right after all. Lily realized this as she stopped dead in her tracks by the half-opened door. She saw her parents only for a moment before she jumped back, but the love scene was still before her eyes. Her mother was sitting on the countertop, her arms around her husband, kissing him hungrily. Lily's father's hands were under his wife's house shirt. Lily never imagined that a kiss could be so… sexy and passionate. Especially her parents' kiss.

She hastily retreated into the living room. Her cheeks and ears were burning. Lily plopped down on the couch next to her brother, took the fresh newspaper and buried her face in it, holding back a chuckle.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, but I did," James said, turning over a page.

"I never thought that…"

Her brother chortled behind his magazine:

"Aha, and you and I were found in the cabbage, right?"

"That's not what I am talking about," answered Lily in exasperation, watching the Minister of Magic proclaim something proudly from the newspaper page. "It's just that…"

Lily couldn't quite put into words the slight shock that she had experienced. James merely chuckled.

A noise came from the fireplace hallway, indicating the arrival of the Weasleys. Brother and sister exchanged conspiratory glances, but didn't look up from their press. The hallway door opened and in walked Hugo – tall, gangling, freckled, with short red hair. He wore shorts and a T-shirt with his favorite Quidditch team logo on it. Rose walked in after him – slight and graceful, dressed in a cream-coloured sundress. Her auburn hair was put in a long braid. Rose held a book in her hands.

"Hello, guys" Rose and Hugo said, sitting down in the chairs. Lily and James said their hellos in unison and glanced at each other again. The noise in the hallway announced the arrival of Uncle Ron and Hermione. Husband and wife walked in, smiling.

"Good morning," said Hermione, tucking away an unruly lock of hair and looking over the room. Her eyes rested on her niece and nephew, who were still hiding behind their printed editions. "Where are your parents?"

Lily chuckled behind her newspaper and James cleared his throat, struggling to find the right words:

"They are … eh… in the kitchen… Cooking."

Hermione and Ron looked at each other and Ron headed for the kitchen, followed by a chorus of "I wouldn't go in there"'s. He came right back, his ears burning and his eyes large. He folded his arms and stared at his shoes.

"Have they been… eh… cooking long?" he forced out, which made Hermione smile widely. Lily caught Rose's mocking glance and winked at her. Hugo, puzzled, looked from his mother to his father.

James finally tossed his magazine down on the coffee table, stretched, and looked at the clock, quietly ticking on the wall.

"Almost twenty minutes."

Lily made big eyes at Rose, who grinned, and Hugo finally caught on to what the others were talking about. He jumped up, but Hermione put her hand on his shoulder, forcing him back onto the couch.

"All right, I am hungry," said James quietly, stretching out his legs and watching Hermione, who walked over to the bookshelves and was looking at the books. Ron plopped down on the vacant couch and stared at the ceiling.

"We have two options. To wait… or to go in and remind them that it is time to eat," said Ron. However, no one had the courage to get up and interrupt Harry and Ginny's privacy. They were just looking at one another.

Suddenly, silence was broken by the sound of quick footsteps and Albus entered the living room, putting on his glasses. His hair was as tousled as James', but the boy still looked small and fragile, with long thin legs. His green eyes – his father's eyes – looked over everyone in the room.

"Good morning," he smiled, a dimple appearing on his cheek.

"Good morning, Al!" everyone replied in unison and then looked after him in dead silence as Albus shuffled into the kitchen, and his clear voice carried into the living room:

"Mum, I want to eat, when is breakfast?"

Lily imagined her mother and father jumping away from each other and blushed anew. Ron hemmed.

"Oh, here you are already; I didn't hear you," Ginny appeared in the room, patting her hair into place. James smiled, and Lily looked away with laughter in her eyes. "The breakfast is almost ready."

Lily got up and went into the kitchen. Albus was already sitting at the counter and eating a chocolate frog, utmost content on his face. Their father wasn't there – the elder Potter must have exited out the other door.

"Al, don't eat chocolate before breakfast," said Lily, taking the sweets from her little brother and putting them on the shelf. She then took the frying pan with the omelet from the stove and started putting it on everyone's plates. The others gathered in the kitchen. Lily's mother and Hermione were laughing about something, Rose was talking to James, as he grabbed the toast from the table and began spreading butter on it. Ron and Hugo were the last to take their seats when Harry finally made an appearance.

"Hey," he shook Ron's hand and kissed Hermione lightly on the top of her head. Lily and James exchanged glances again and then looked at their father. Harry wore a white shirt only buttoned with two buttons, and light summer slacks.

Lily looked adoringly at her father. He was already thirty eight years old, but to her he was the handsomest of men. There was no grey in his black hair, despite of all his had been through.

Lily knew a lot about her father and yet, almost nothing – he was always very kind and attentive to her, the best father and friend. He never talked about those he lost and or what it cost him to defeat the most powerful evil wizard of the modern times.

Lily saw her mother cast an adoringly-embarrassed look at her father, who winked at her. The girl asked herself whether she would be so lucky as to find a man who would look at her with just such adoration even after twenty years of marriage.

Lily barely heard the conversations about Quidditch, her father's work, the latest news in the Weasley clan; she was surreptitiously watching her parents while thinking of herself. She would be turning sixteen soon and she had never been in love. She had two rather unexciting dates; several boys invited her to Hogsmead and the Christmas Ball, but she declined all invitations – she was waiting for someone special, better.

"Lily, are you here?"

Lilly started and looked at Rose who sat next to her. Lily smiled at her cousin.

"Have you decided what to give James for his seventeenth birthday?"

Lily shook her head.

"I have three more days. We are going to the Diagon Alley today; I'll pick something out." She shrugged her shoulders. "It's a good thing that James was born on August 31 – he won't have time to really get to me. Imagine what he will be doing when allowed to perform magic at home? However, he won't be able to do much in twenty four hours and then we will be at Hogwarts and he won't have time for me, as usual."

"Are you kiddin'?"

Lily and Rose started at Ron's exclamation. The girls stared at the red-haired man, who was, in turn, staring at Harry in amazement. The elder Potter bit back the chuckle, looking at Ron and Hermione.

"No, I am not joking; the letter arrived this morning," Harry smiled, putting away his fork.

Lily understood the reason for her relatives' surprise.

"So, are you going to go? Harry, that idiot made your life miserable, and you want to go help him?" Ron looked at his friend disapprovingly.

"Of course, he will go, Ron!" said Hermione didactically and turned towards Harry. "You will, won't you?"

Harry nodded. Lily watched, as a look of complete trust passed between her father and Hermione. The girl knew that look – her father was very close to Hermione; they understood each other better than anyone else did. Apparently, her uncle's wife knew something about Lily's father that enabled her to easily guess his thoughts and predict his actions.

"Ok, tea, anyone?" Ginny rose abruptly and waved her wand. The plates stacked up and flew into the sink, where they began washing by themselves. The teacups magically placed themselves before the people at the table and the sugar and milk dishes slid off the tray.

"Al, what are you doing?" suddenly said James and everyone turned to look at the younger Potter. Al froze, his mouth full of chocolate, his eyes guilty. _Thanks to Merlin, his father never had that expression in his eyes_, Lily thought, getting up and taking the box of chocolate frogs away from Albus.

"Lord, Al, you will be sick, honey," Ginny patted her son's hair and handed him his tea. Albus angrily twisted away from her and the cup in front of him cracked. The tea leaked onto the table and onto the boy's lap.

"You are impossible," Lily snorted, turning away. "Thanks, everyone, I'll be in my room. Rose?"

The two girls left the kitchen; they went up to Lily's room and, once there, burst out laughing. Rose sat in the rocking chair.

"You wanted to tell me something, no?" she asked.

Lily nodded, sitting down on her bed with one leg bent under her. She bit her lip hesitantly, but then she looked up at her cousin with her light-green eyes:

"I had a dream about him again. He reached for me. I guess, he wanted to put his arms around me."

Rose straightened in her chair and her eyes lit up in anticipation.

"Did you see his face?"

Lily shook her head:

"I woke up before I could take off his mask. It seems as though I will never be able to see his face; or his hair."

Rose soothingly patted her cousin's shoulder.

"Maybe it's for the best. You shouldn't get stuck on an imaginary guy, when the real ones are all around you."

"Well, it's not that simple, Rosie," Lily said breathlessly, fumbling with the edge of the comforter. "He has been coming to me in my dreams for almost a year and never spoke or showed his face. He just comes and looks at me. What if he needs my help?"

Rose chortled just like Hermione.

"Where did you get that idea? I think it is rubbish."

"He had a wand," said Lily, remembering the details of her dream. "It was very unusual; I'd never seen the likes of it before."

Rose shrugged her slender shoulders, looking at the photographs on the shelves.

"By the way, I was made Head Girl," said Rose as though in passing, looking down at her ink-stained hands.

Lilly shrieked, jumped off the bed, and hugged her cousin, almost causing them both to tumble to the floor.

"Congratulations! Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Well, I don't know, you are a prefect now too," Rose looked embarrassed. "I did not want to supplant your joy with mine."

"You silly goose," laughed Lily, "I can only imagine how excited your parents are."

"Yes, Mummy promised to get me a present today," Rose said, sounding thoroughly embarrassed.

The door opened and James and Hugo came in.

James smirked.

"Well, well, well, the prefect council, I see," he walked past them and sat down on the corner of the desk. "I hear that you, Rose, are now the prefect of all prefects."

"Yeah, so?" challenged the girl, raising her chin defiantly and looking eerily like her mother.

"Well, I will have to be doubly careful, since I am now going to have two prefects on my case and both of them – my relatives," James chuckled, playing with the wand in his hand.

"As if that will stop you," Rose retorted, while Lily merely laughed.

"Do you know when we are going into town?" Lily asked Hugo who was quietly standing in the corner.

"Aunt Ginny said in about an hour. Uncle Harry went somewhere, and Dad went to work," the teenager calmly reported, "I think that we are waiting for your father."

"Oh, good, that gives Lily time to change her clothes," said James nonchalantly, staring down at his wand.

"And why, may I ask, do I need to change?" asked his sister looking over her clothes in search of stains. "What do you have against my clothes?"

"The lack thereof, mainly," James grinned, although the look in his eyes was quite severe. "Put on something that covers you rather than uncovers."

"Go to hell, I'll wear what I like!"

"Lily," said James threateningly, pointing his wand at his sister. She, however, had already taken hers out. Rose promptly got in between the two siblings:

"Hey, you two, you are not allowed to do magic! James, stop it, her clothes are fine," Rose's cheeks were burning and she sighed with relief when her cousin obediently lowered his wand.

"She should change! Everyone at the Diagon Alley will be ogling her!"

Rose and Lily looked at each other and grinned.


	3. Prologue - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

_**Chapter 3. Harry Potter.**_

A tall dark-haired man appeared in the middle of the street, seemingly out of the thin air. He looked around, ruffled his already tousled hair, straightened his glasses, and headed for the Number 4, Privet Drive.

The residents of this quite corner of Surrey, who were washing their cars and mowing their lawns, stared at the stranger in surprise. Some things never changed.

Same could be said about the house where Harry Potter spent his non-too-happy childhood years. It seemed the same as it was when he left over twenty years ago, starting his trying journey that ended with the death of Lord Voldemort; the death of Hegdwig; the death of Dobby; the deaths of Tonk's father, Tonks herself, Lupin, Fred, Colin Creevey, and so many others.

Harry shook his head, dismissing the memories, pushed open the gate, and walked the familiar and almost forgotten pathway towards the porch, where aunt Petunia found him thirty seven years ago; where Dumbledore hd left him. The old Teacher walked through this doorway. Harry also remembered almost shoving his dazed cousin Dudley through this doorway after the dementor attack.

Harry forced himself to ring the doorbell, terrified though he was to find himself again in this house, full of, it seemed to him, only the saddest and most frightening memories.

Dudley opened the door, the young Dudley. The only differences were that this boy was robust rather than fat, and his hair dark rather than blond, and neatly trimmed and combed. The boy looked about thirteen years old. He stared at the visitor expectantly, looking him over from the scar on his forehead (the cursed scar, which he thought of less and less nowadays) to the toes of his polished shoes.

"Hello, are your parents home?" Harry finally managed to get out, smiling slightly at the boy. The boy nodded and stepped back, letting the guest in.

"Mum!" Dudley's son (he had to be) called and continued to stare at Harry. Potter at once located the familiar door under the stairs and smiled bitterly. He inadvertently made a step forward, opened the closet and peered in. Old household items, broken toys, clothes were piled up in the old room of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Only the spiders were a reminder of the days when Harry used to wake up there every morning.

"Eh… hello."

Harry slammed the closet door shut, turned and stared at the petite woman in front of him. She had dark hair put up in a bun and kind eyes the colour of the sky on a clear summer day. She smiled slightly, looking from her guest to the closet door.

"How can I help you?"

Harry finally managed to speak, albeit with difficulty:

"My name is Harry Potter; I am Dudley's cousin. He asked me to stop by."

The woman gasped, nodded nervously and shook his hand with her own, small, slightly moist, hand.

"How do you do? I am Maria Dursley, Dudley's wife. And this is our son, Zach." The boy named Zach nodded. "Zach, dear, go and fetch your father. He is in the garage."

When Zach left, Mrs. Dursley invited Harry into the living room. Not much has changed here either, except that instead of the pictures of Dudley there were the rigid aged faces of Petunia and Vernon, and the assorted photographs of Dudley's children; and a portrait in the corner.

Harry didn't want to sit down; he felt uncomfortable in this house. In that chair over there – or another one but in the same spot – sat Albus Dumbledore when he came for Harry in his sixth year at Hogwarts. Lupin and Tonks were whispering to each other over there when they came to see him off to the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. This mirror (or, maybe, one like it) showed the reflection of Fred Weasley less than a year before his death.

The house was full of memories and echoes of the past. Harry was distracted from his thoughts by Maria Dursley who, it seemed, was trying to act casually:

"Will you have anything to drink?"

Harry shook his head and thrust his hands in his pockets. Uneasy silence resumed while Harry looked over the room and the things in it.

"I am glad that you came," Maria said haltingly, clutching her hands in front of her. Harry turned toward her and attempted a smile.

"Where is your daughter?"

The woman's sigh caught in her throat, but her sad eyes didn't falter:

"She is… she is in her room. Dudley locked her up."

Her guest's green eye blazed, making Mrs. Dursley step back. Harry, however, contained himself, deciding that simply wringing his cousin's neck was more productive than empty words.

Finally, the adult Dudley's wide frame appeared in the doorway. He was as big as Uncle Vernon during the last years of Harry's stay in this house. His cousin was pale and his hands shook slightly.

"H…Hello," Dudley forced out, inching into the room and shutting the door in Zach's curious face. Dudley's eyes flitted nervously back and forth.

"Well, hello," Harry smiled dryly, but extended his hand – after all, during their last encounter Dudley showed some sign of brain activity, "Can't say I missed you."

Dudley nodded awkwardly, shook Harry's hand, and looked to his wife for support, but Harry decided to initiate the conversation himself:

"Where did you get an owl to send me the letter?"

"Eh, the man who came from the school lent it to us," Maria answered for her husband, sitting down. The men followed suit. "He said that we have to let them know by August 31 whether Amanda will be going to… to school or not."

Harry nodded, folding his arms:

"So, what did you decide?"

"We haven't decided anything," Dudley grumbled, "That's why we wrote to you. You are, after all, in… a wiz…"

Harry suddenly laughed sincerely, startling Dudley.

"I am sorry. It's just that it's such a bizarre twist of fate: a little witch born in the house where the word 'wizard' or any display of magic were abhorred and never even mentioned.

"S-so, she really is a… a witch?" gabbled out Maria, looking at Harry.

"If she received the letter, then yes, she is a witch," Harry shrugged.

"And there is nothing we can do about it?"

"Ask your husband if his parents were able to do anything about me," Harry couldn't contain a smile again, looking at Dudley who was shifting uneasily in his seat. He imagined Dudley telling his wife and children about his childhood lived in constant fear of being turned into a pig or a worm, and smiled again, broadly this time. "Your daughter is a witch, and that cannot be changed. You can forbid her from going to the school of wizardry, but she won't change because of that. Of course, she won't have the education or a wand, but her magic will not go anywhere."

Maria and Dudley looked at each other.

"So we don't have a choice, do we?" Dudley asked dejectedly, "We have to send her to this… this school?"

Harry shrugged again. He knew that his cousin was scared, very scared indeed.

"Do your parents know, Dudley?"

His cousin shook his head, glancing around him nervously, and Harry even felt a little sorry for him.

"And Amanda?"

Husband and wife looked down guiltily.

"So, you locked that child up in her room and didn't even explain why?" Harry stood up and the Dursleys rose as well.

"We… we didn't know what to do," Dudley tried to explain, looking fearfully at Harry. Although his cousin was much bigger than Potter, he looked frightened when Harry pulled himself up and straightened his broad shoulders. "We wanted you to talk to her."

"Will you allow her to go to Hogwarts?" the wizard asked angrily, looking the Dursleys straight in the eye.

"Is it dangerous?" Maria asked in a small voice.

"All my friends and I graduated from Hogwarts. My children are enrolled there."

"And… and he who… well, who…" Dudley didn't have the courage to say 'he who killed your parents', but Harry understood.

"He is long gone. Do you think that you and I would be having this conversation if Voldemort was alive today? You would never have been left without the wizarding protection."

Dudley nodded fearfully.

"It is safe there. Amanda will be happy among others of her kind," Harry spoke calmly, "My daughter can look after her," he said, looking at the worried Maria. "She will come to no harm."

The Dursleys exchanged a look, then Dudley nodded, and Maria smiled slightly:

"Come with me, Mr. Potter."

"Harry," he definitely liked this woman.

"All right then, let's go, Harry. I'll introduce you to Amanda."

"All right, but give me the letter that the Hogwarts representative gave to you."

He was walking up the stairs, clutching the familiar envelope in his hand, and trying to decide how to tell the little girl that she was a witch. Harry remembered how it happened with him – but he was no half-giant Hagrid. He should have brought along Ginny or, better yet, Hermione – they would not have had any problems with this mission.

Harry was not at all surprised when Maria halted in front of the door to the same room where he resided for a time. The door had the same cat flap, through which aunt Petunia pushed Harry's food when he was grounded. _Damn, must the poor child go through the same thing?!_

Maria turned the key in the keyhole and opened the door. Harry stepped after her into the darkened room. The bed against the wall – his bed; a wardrobe – a different one, but in the same spot; the desk on which his parchment scrolls and quills were once strewn, and which now held the books and toys of the Muggle-born witch.

The girl – plump knees, two blond braids, and frightened, teary eyes – sat on the bed with her feet tucked under her. When the adults entered, she looked up. Harry's heart ached when he saw his – HIS! – Gryffindor scarf on the wall. Apparently, he forgot to take it off, leaving the house in a haste, and the Dursleys could not rip it off the wall because he had attached it with magic tape.

"Amanda, darling, meet your uncle Harry. He is your Daddy's cousin," said Maria softly.

"Hello, Uncle Harry," said Amanda politely, lowering her feet to the floor and looking hopefully into his green eyes.

"Amanda, Uncle Harry wants to talk to you," Maria smiled warmly at her kinsman and left, closing the door behind her.

Harry felt uneasy under the scrutiny of the child's eyes. He didn't know how to begin. _What would Hermione do? What would she say? Or Ginny? Or Mrs. Weasley?_

"Did you come here to tell me why Mummy and Daddy punished me?"

"Yes. Although you weren't exactly punished," Harry corrected himself, sitting down on the bed next to his niece. "It's just that…"

What could he say to this child? That her parents were afraid of her?

"The man who came recently. It is all about him, isn't it?" a little hand trustingly touched Harry's shoulder. This made him bolder.

"Yes, partly. That man brought a letter for you."

"For me?"

"Yes. I shall give it to you now." Harry took the envelope out of his pocket. The familiar green ink and coat of arms were heartwarming.

Amanda took the letter with caution and began to read it. Harry turned on the desk lamp, then rose and turned toward the window, through which Hedwig used to come in with letters, gifts, and postcards. He escaped through this window to _The Burrow_ in his second year at Hogwarts, thanks to Ron, George, and Fred Weasley.

Harry did not let the dark memories fill his soul – if he remembered Fred, he would also remember the last battle at Hogwarts; the Great Hall; the dead people; people who had died for him; for peace; for life.

"Uncle Harry, is there really a school like that?"

Harry turned to look at the girl's slightly stunned face.

"Yes, Amanda, there is a school like that. I went there."

"Why didn't Daddy go there?"

"Because your Daddy is not a wizard. You are a witch, however, and you will go to a special school of witchcraft," the words came easily to him now; he just hoped that Amanda would not doubt what was said to her by a veritable stranger.

"But how did you find out that I was a witch?"

"I didn't know. People at the school knew and that is why they sent you the letter. They always know these things."

"But I never performed magic, why did they decide that I was a witch?"

"Well, think back, was there anything strange that ever happened in your life? Something that you could not explain? Something that occurred when you were unhappy, or angry, or irritated?" Harry remembered his first conversation with Hagrid in the old shack many years ago.

"Well… once, recently," Amanda nodded, smiling. "Christina Stone called me a fat cow and I was very hurt and angry. And then her hair was all dyed green and yellow stripes. It was funny."

"There, you see? That's how most wizards and witches start out – with a little mischief." Harry squatted down to look the girl in the eyes. "In school you will learn to control the magic and to use it properly. You will have many friends there. It is interesting there."

"Are you a wizard, Uncle Harry?"

Harry merely nodded. He took his wand out of his back pocket, pondered a little, and conjured soap bubbles out of thin air – Al always loved this trick – apologizing inwardly to the Ministry of Magic. Thankfully, there were no registered wizards in this house any more – or quite yet.

Amanda clapped in delight, staring at the wand in Harry's hand.

"Will I have one like it too?"

"Yes, they will buy you everything you need."

"Uncle Harry, where can we buy this stiff?"

Harry smiled – this girl, with her immediate and unconditional belief in magic, reminded him of someone.

"There is such a place. If you parents allow, I can take you there. Today," Harry remembered that his family was waiting for him to go to the Diagon Alley.

Amanda nodded happily.

"Then I shall go talk to them."

Harry went downstairs, congratulating himself on the job well done. It was easy for him to talk to Lily and his sons, but he never thought that it would be as easy to talk to a girl who knew nothing of this other, non-Muggle world.

The Dursleys sat in uneasy silence. When Harry entered, they rose. Zach peeked from around the corner.

"Everything is okay," Harry smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You need to send your consent to the school."

Husband and wife nodded dejectedly.

"I also would like to take Amanda shopping for school supplies," Harry looked at Maria. "My family and I are going to go shopping today, as it happens."

"Yes, of course," said Maria hesitantly. "Maybe I shall bring her..?"

Harry shrugged.

"Sure, why not? Let us meet in an hour," Harry looked at the watch that the Weasleys gave him for his seventeenth birthday, "by the Cross Well restaurant in London. Do you know it?"

Maria nodded. Harry smiled and put his hand out for Dudley.

"Then I am not saying goodbye. And, Dudley, don't you dare lock your daughter up again. Don't repeat your parents' mistakes."

With this, the wizard left the house, crossed the street and vanished, Apparated to another part of England, to his house in a little suburb.


	4. Prologue - Chapter 4 - Ginny Potter

_**Chapter 4. Ginny Weasley.**_

She sat in the living room, flipping nervously through the pages of "Witch Weekly", often glancing at the clock. She heard the children laughing upstairs – they must all have gathered in one of the bedrooms. Ginny smiled, remembering Harry cursing a few years ago after James and Lily almost demolished half of the house during one of their spats.

The thought of Harry made Ginny look at the clock again. It was almost one o'clock and her husband was not home yet.

It became a habit of hers around her third year at Hogwarts to worry about him, her dearest and most beloved. She constantly thought about where he was, what he was doing, whether or not he was in danger, whether he was hungry or in pain. The most horrible year was one when they hardly saw each other – the year when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were travelling around England, trying to bring about the demise of Lord Voldemort.

It was a terrible time for everyone, but especially for Ginny. She did not know how to help Harry. And, indeed, she could not help. The thought of Harry dying, helpless, at any moment hardly left her mind at all. Then there were several years of bliss: the wedding, the family… Then he became an Auror. Night calls, emergency summons, raids, investigations. Ginny often found herself awake in the middle of the night, waiting for her husband to step out of the fireplace, a little dirty and sleepy, but alive. And this fear for him, always walking on the brink, what with his stupid habit of trying to save and protect everyone, became her the second most prevalent feeling after her love for him that accompanied Ginny all these years.

Even now, knowing that Harry merely went to visit the Muggles, she was sick with worry. They were supposed to go shopping at noon, but he still hasn't returned.

"Ginny, leave the magazine alone, it didn't do anything wrong," Hermione said softly, sitting down next to her friend. She was holding a book that she took off a bookshelf. "He will be back soon, why are you so worried?"

Ginny flinched and shrank back: she didn't expect Hermione to understand how she was feeling. Although why not – Hermione has lived with this fear for just as long, as she loved Harry just as much…

This thought only made Ginny feel worse.

"I am fine," Mrs. Potter grumbled, getting up. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione merely shook her head, as she watched Ron's sister. Ginny was pacing around the living room, her arms crossed. She was worried, but trying to calm down, because it was silly to torture herself when her husband was going to come in at any moment. It was just that while he was in the magical world where everyone knew him, he was essentially safe. But anything could happen in the Muggle world! She couldn't understand why she was possessed by this anxiety today, but she simply couldn't calm down.

Ginny inadvertently remembered the morning when Harry was helping her to cook breakfast. For the first time in months he was not tired and pensive, but merry, energetic, and humming something to himself. And Ginny couldn't help it – she pulled him to her, raised herself on her tip toes and kissed him – tenderly, gratefully, and lovingly.

And he responded. His strong hands put her up on the counter and she could run her fingers through the hair that she loved. They forgot about time, simply kissing and caressing one another…

Ginny shook her head, driving away the memory. It has been twenty years, but their honeymoon continued. And even though he was often tired, barely making it to bed, it only made the nights when he pressed her against him and fell asleep with his face still buried in her hair more precious. Or the evenings when they sat quietly on the porch swing, their arms around each other.

"Well, where is he?!" she finally exploded, unable to bear the silence.

"I am here," there was a rustling noise, and a warm voice enveloped Ginny. She whirled around and practically fell into her husband's arms. Harry smiled faintly at Hermione above Ginny's red-haired head, while soothingly stroking her back. "What happened?"

"Ginny was just a little worried; it is unusual for you to be late," Hermione smiled in response, getting up. "How are the Dursleys?"

"Well, they locked the girl up, like they did me once," Harry sat down on the couch, holding Ginny close, as she curled up in his lap.

"How horrid," Hermione shook her head. "Then what?"

"They have basically agreed to let her go to Hogwarts. They will accompany us to the Diagon Alley."

Hermione adjusted her hair and walked towards the staircase:

"Then the children should get ready to leave; otherwise we will not get back till after midnight."

Harry watched his friend go; then he kissed the top of Ginny's head.

"And what was all that about?" he asked his wife tenderly, forcing her to look at him. She smiled apologetically. "I thought that you have gotten over your paranoia."

"This is not paranoia!" Ginny punched Harry angrily in the chest. "Never – do you hear? – ever be late again!"

"You, my silly girl," Harry sighed, kissing the corner of her pouted lips. "I didn't exactly go off to the Forbidden Forest where the Death Eaters are herding monsters."

He realized that his joke was a bad idea when Ginny blanched.

"I still remember the terror that I felt seeing you in Hagrid's arms and believing that you were dead. My soul still freezes over at the thought that, even for a minute, you were lost to me. Do you understand?"

Harry did not say anything, touching his hot lips on her cheeks, forehead, and lips. He felt her arms around his neck; she was running her fingers through his hair. Harry pressed her slender body to him, lost in her embrace…

"Trelawney must have announced to the world that the end is near," Hermione's slightly irritated voice came from the stairs. "Otherwise, why would two perfectly mature adults not be able to keep their hands off one another as soon as they were left un-chaperoned?"

Ginny, embarrassed, buried her flushed face in Harry's chest and he merely smiled sheepishly at his friend and shrugged.

"Somehow, I never noticed you do that before," Hermione chuckled, coming down the stairs into the living room. She realized then that she had put her foot in her mouth, blushed, and tried to redeem herself: "I mean that you never used to do that in inappropriate places."

Harry raised his eyebrows, looking at the embarrassed Hermione, trying not to burst out laughing. He could remember plenty of times when he and Ginny "did it" in inappropriate places. Although his notion of propriety might be quite different from Hermione's.

The children burst into the room, stopping the strange conversation. Ginny got off her husband's lap, straightened her dress, and went to get her purse. When she returned, Harry was already giving out the Floo powder to the kids.

"So, I am going first. And, James, should you happen to walk out of the wrong fireplace, you will have to celebrate your getting away with your life instead of your birthday," Harry instructed his son sternly, winked at Lily and, having received an answering smile, stepped into the large white fireplace.

Ginny saw her family disappear in green flames: first Harry, then Lily, James, Rose and Hugo, and then Hermione. Albus, looking a little scared, gripped a handful of Floo powder. Ginny smiled in encouragement and nudged him towards the fireplace. She was the last to leave, having put the Inaccesibility Charm on the house, to discourage uninvited visitors during their absence.

Moments later she flew out of the fireplace right into Harry's arms – he knew how awkward the procedure was for her – in the fireplace hall of the Diagon Alley. The children were already outside – they were looking impatiently at their parents.

Ginny and Harry went to join them.

"So, here is the plan of actions," Harry looked at the smiling kids. "I understand that you will disappear from our view no matter what we say… Therefore… James, this applies to you especially: we will meet at Florean Fortescue's in one hour and not a minute later."

James nodded, glanced at the clock in the square, and dissolved into the crowd. Rose and Lily, chuckling merrily, headed for the clothing boutiques; and Hugo bumped into some friends and disappeared with them.

"I see that everyone who wanted to has bowed off," Harry smiled, putting his arm around Ginny's shoulders. "I need to meet with my cousin's family. Ginny?"

"I am with you," Ginny nodded, seeing a plea for help in his green eyes. "Hermione?"

"I think I will go to Flourish and Blotts and look for textbooks. Maybe we can meet there; the little girl will need books at any rate, won't she?"

They all agreed to that. Harry took Al by the hand – his son busied himself with a few chocolate frogs that Hermione slipped him before leaving – and the three of them headed for the Leaky Cauldron. In ten minutes they went out into the Muggle London.

"Is that them?" Ginny nodded toward the restaurant across the street from the "Leaky Cauldron", where Maria and Amanda stood, waiting. Both seemed to feel out of place.

The Potters crossed the street. Maria had already noticed Harry and smiled at him amiably, albeit a little tersely. Amanda hopped and clapped her hands.

Harry introduced his family to the two of them. Al was clearly interested in Amanda, since he offered her one of his chocolate frogs. The girl, catching sight of the magical candy, began looking at Al with reverence – of course, he was a wizard!

"Harry, could you…" said Mrs. Dursley timidly, looking at her daughter. "It's just that I…"

Harry understood and nodded. He then squatted in front of his cousin's daughter:

"Will you come along with us? You are not afraid, are you?"

Amanda shook her head, her eyes shining in anticipation.

"Maria, I will bring her home in the evening then, shall I?"

Mrs. Dursley nodded with relief – she seemed to be a little frightened. She took an envelope with Muggle money out of her purse and handed it to Harry:

"I hope this is enough."

Harry nodded, put the money in his breast pocket and smiled. Maria turned and walked away, looking back and waving to her daughter a couple of times.

The four of them crossed the street back to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry noticed that Amanda's gaze immediately fixed on the darkened entrance to the pub. The girl watched Harry and his wand with keen interest. When the doorway opened in the courtyard wall, Amanda gasped.

"Welcome to the Diagon Alley – the centre of wizard London," Al held his hand out to Amanda. Ginny's eyebrows arched as she stared at her son in amazement. Al was quite an introvert and it was the first time she heard such grandiloquence from him.

Harry followed after the children with his arm around his wife, trying to hold back the memories of his first visit here. Amanda reminded him of the little Harry Potter, whose life once changed as radically as this girl's had. The difference was that she was loved and cared for, that she had a happy childhood unmarred by early losses, spiders in the closet, and her relatives' bullying. Harry was very happy for her.

It took them half an hour to get to Flourish and Blotts. Amanda ran to every shop window and gazed spellbound at the magical goods displayed there. She was not afraid at all, implicitly trusting the adult wizards who brought her here. She was interested in everything – from shop signs to flying owls to the newest models of broomsticks to barrels of eel eyes.

"Ginny, you stay here while I stop by the Gringotts. I need to visit our safe and exchange Amanda's money." Harry opened the door to let his wife through. There were several customers inside the store. Hermione stood by a shelf lining the far wall, her nose in a book.

"All right, but, please, don't be long," Ginny kissed him lightly on the cheek, nudged the children to enter, and walked in herself. She looked around when the door closed behind her, causing the doorbell to tinkle – her husband was striding toward the white building of the bank. Ginny sighed in resignation and followed after Al and Amanda.


	5. Prologue - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

_**Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.**_

It was almost two o'clock when James turned a corner and saw an outdoor café that was his destination. He quickened his pace, looking for silvery hair among the many patrons. At a table in the back, he finally spotted a blond-haired youth who was sipping his drink languidly through a straw.

James smirked and plopped into the chair opposite him.

"Throw your watch in the trash, Potter," said the youth whose handsome silvery-blond hair to match his eyes sparkled in the sunshine. He was dressed smartly in a sleeveless ivory shirt with green trim, and cream-coloured jeans. His skin was pale, without a hint of a tan. His face was slightly elongated, narrow, with a pointed chin. The air of aristocracy and nobility manifested in his every aspect and movement, and made even waiters steal reverent glances in his direction. Not to mention the young ladies at the nearby tables! "Did you use Muggle transportation, trying to make it here by noon?"

"Hello to you as well, Malfoy," James nodded at the waitress, flashed a smile at her, and asked for pumpkin juice. The boys looked at each other, smiling. "How was Italy?"

"Boring," Malfoy shrugged, "Although I did manage to attend their Quidditch League semi-finals. Not bad, it was fun to watch. What's new in the Potter-Weasley clan?"

"Nothing that would make you or your Daddy happy," James chortled, accepting the tall glass from the waitress and half-emptying it in one gulp, "Rose has been made the Head Girl."

"Weasley is the Head Girl? Is this a bad joke?" Malfoy put down his glass and shook his head. "I am against it, frankly and openly."

"No kidding," smiled James, not at all put out by Malfoy's words. Such was the strange friendship between the children of old school foes.

James and Scorpius became friends at the end of their second year at Hogwarts, when they were caught dueling in one of the empty classrooms. The boys spent a week in the Hospital Wing – one's ears refused to assume their proper shape and size and the other stubbornly persisted in sporting antlers. Afterwards, they had to endure two weeks of detentions with Professor McGonagall. Nothing else could have worked better to make two boys who hated each other on sight become friends.

Many thought their friendship odd and they didn't argue. Scorpius' father despised James' father, and Harry saved Draco Malfoy's life on a number of occasions. James' father did not harbor any warm feelings toward Malfoy, Sr., thinking him a coward and a skunk. None of this prevented their sons from having been the closest of friends for the past five years.

"So, are we going to continue making eyes at each other or shall we go somewhere?" Malfoy got up, shrugged, and smiled playfully at the girls at the next table over. James hemmed, shaking his head, also rose and also smiled at the girls. The girls stared, flabbergasted, as the two friends tossed their payment on the table and left the café.

They walked side by side, their hands in their pockets – dark hair next to blond hair, similar height and build, the biggest difference being that James Potter belonged to the Gryffindor House and Scorpius was a true Slytherin. This, however, did not stand in the way of their friendship either.

If they were asked what the nature of their connection was – what could the son of the wizard world's hero and the son of a hapless Death Eater have in common – they wouldn't be able to explain it. Perhaps, it was only their stubbornness.

"Don't forget, you are invited to our house on the thirty first," James mentioned off-handedly as the boys were passing by Madam Malkin's. Malfoy nodded, smiling.

"Let's hope that coming of age will help your spell-casting."

"Oh, well, at least I have that hope left, whereas you have no hope left at all," James laughed.

"On the other hand, I am lucky in love, while you will die of old age, having only had the had the dubious honor the Ravenclaw's affections," Malfoy chuckled, sitting down on the fence near the "Magical Menagerie". James sat down next to him and both crossed their arms.

"Well, we'll see about that. By the way, my name sounds better in the heat of passion. With you, I am not sure whether the ladies of your heart – well, not the heart – can even pronounce your given name. Or, do they just call you by your last name?"

Malfoy chuckled:

"Is that the best you can do?" He lifted one silvery eyebrow and his face took on a slightly arrogant expression. The boys' attention was drawn by two girls who walked out of the shop across the street and waved at them. Malfoy stared at his friend:

"Who was that? Weasley?"

James looked grimly after the girls – they were walking slowly, engaged in merry chatter.

"Aha."

"Who is that with her?"

"Have you had a heat stroke, Malfoy?" James turned quickly towards the Slytherin and caught the interested look of the silver eyes. "That's my sister!"

"That one? Your sister is a scrawny gangling little thing," Malfoy stared at James in consternation.

"Yeah, right, a scrawny little thing! She will be taking OWLS this year. And a prefect to boot!" James said, as if accusing his sister of a crime. "And take your lustful eyes off my sister!"

"Off which one?" inquired Malfoy, unperturbed, still looking after the two girls.

James forcefully struck Scorpius on the shoulder, but the other did not even flinch, as if he had braced for it.

"Keep in mind, I am of age," Malfoy teased and looked at James. "Oh, calm down, will you? I don't want either one of your sisters! They are both crazy!"

A slow smile spread over James' face:

"Holding a grudge, are we?"

"At whom?"

"At Rose."

"Yeah, right," Malfoy sniggered, turning away, "Me, holding a grudge at some silly girl, and a Weasley too?"

"Oh, yes you _are_, Malfoy," James slapped his friend's shoulder triumphantly. "Listen, I never found out why she slapped you that day?"

"Well, it's too late now." Malfoy stood up and went in the direction opposite to the one in which the girls departed. He didn't even look to see if James followed. That damn Weasley girl! And even without red-hair to excuse such temper! He simply put his arm around her waist, as he passed her in the school hallway. Yet, she turned and slapped him full on the face – and in full view of the Gryffindor First Years that she was escorting. The brown-eyed beast!

"Malfoy, do you know that Rose's mother once smacked your father as well?" James, quite pleased with himself, fell into step beside his friend. "Hermione told us once and Dad and Uncle Ron confirmed."

"The gentlemen do not rise to women's silliness," Malfoy retorted with his signature phrase. He suddenly stopped and grabbed James' elbow. "Listen, I completely forgot, I had plans to meet someone."

"Who? A girl?" They turned on the spot and hurried back.

"Yeah, a girl. She is a distant relation come from Greece or some such place. Mother said that she is a cousin once removed. Anyway, I promised to help her with shopping, since she is gonna be an exchange student at Hogwarts."

The two friends hurried across the street, crowded with witches and wizards, and soon found themselves in a square, on one side of which was the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes and on the other – the Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Malfoy headed across the square towards the statue of Merlin under a shady tree. There, on the bench, sat a girl. James' breath caught in his throat.

"Come on now, Potter, don't freeze up," Malfoy was tugging his friend on his T-shirt, literally dragging him along.

"I won't go", James forced out, trying to resist Scorpius' grip. "I won't."

"Don't be an idiot," Malfoy hissed. They had almost reached the bench. The girl was reading a small book and did not see them. Malfoy stopped and looked into his friend's brown eyes, widened in shock. "Potter, come out of the stupor, it is just a girl!"

Apparently, she noticed them – she raised her eyes sparkling like shards of ice, and smiled with a smile just as frigid. She was tanned, had hair the colour of the sun, and wore snow-white slacks with a light blouse, and high-heel shoes. She sat straight-backed, her chin lifted proudly. James could barely remember who and where he was, so perhaps it was good that Malfoy was still dragging him.

"Hello, Xenia," Malfoy stopped two steps away from the bench. "Forgive me, I was a little delayed," he said, glaring reproachfully at James, who couldn't take his eyes off the girl. "I'd like you to meet James Potter. James, this is Xenia Verdi."

James finally regained control of himself and nodded at the girl, who smiled coldly at him.

"Potter. Charmed, I am sure," her voice rang out like a little bell, no enthusiasm in it. She merely glanced over the new acquaintance and looked back at Malfoy: "It's okay that you were delayed; I had a chance to look around…"

"Listen, Malfoy, I've got to go," James whispered to his friend, nodding towards the Fortescue's. "There come my parents."

Scorpius looked in the direction indicated and shrugged:

"We'll join you in a little bit."

James nodded, waved to the girl with cold eyes and a strange name, and hurried across the square. Malfoy and his relative looked after him, and then Scorpius sat down next to Xenia.

"Is he related to Harry Potter?" she looked at Malfoy with interest.

"He is his oldest son."

"Malfoy, are you friends with Harry Potter's son?" Malfoy was getting bored – he had never in his life heard a phrase as hackneyed as that one. "Intriguing."

Scorpius looked into Xenia's face with a little surprise – he had never seen this cold face drop its mask of indifference.

"And what is your parents' reaction to this?"

Malfoy hemmed:

"Resignation, I guess, just like his parents'."

"Scorpius, you amaze me," Xenia smiled at him and looked back towards the Fortescue's café where a noisy company had assembled. Malfoy also glanced at the café: he saw the elder Potter, with his arm around his wife (another Weasley); there also was the miniature copy of the Boy Who Lived with the horrible name of Albus Severus, devouring ice-cream with the speed that made Malfoy queasy. Rose and Lily (Merlin, he _does_ know the name of the red-haired girl) were sitting together, laughing as usual. Next to them was Rose's mother, the deputy chief of the Magical Law Enforcement (also a Weasley). And some unfamiliar plump girl with a flabbergasted expression on her face. Who is she?


	6. Prologue - Chapter 6 - Hermione Weasley

_**Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley.**_

Harry ordered ice cream for everybody from Florean – his old acquaintance – and returned to the table that his children picked out. Ginny was trying to talk Albus into not eating all the chocolate at once; Rose was looking at the book that her mother bought her – only a daughter of Hermione's would prefer a book to ice cream. Hermione herself was observing Amanda with interest – the girl held her new wand in both hands and was gazing at it as though trying hard to hypnotize it.

James came to the table:

"Hello, everyone, again," he occupied a vacant chair and took Al's ice cream spoon from him, prompting a loud wail of protest.

"Stop it, James!" Ginny commanded, handing Albus another spoon. "Where are you coming from, so disheveled?"

Harry and Ginny traced James' involuntary glance back toward the bench on the other side of the square, where Scorpius and Xenia sat.

"Is that Malfoy?" asked Lily squinting against the sun. "And who is the blonde with him?"

"His mother's kin," James shrugged, feigning complete indifference. "Maybe someone will introduce me to this creature who is looking so tenderly at a wooden stick?"

"This is my cousin's daughter," Harry smiled, "Her name is Amanda and she will be going to Hogwarts."

"Hello, I am James Potter," the youth nodded at the child. Amanda glanced up at him for a moment, only to return to her gazing at the wand that her Uncle Harry bought for her.

"Mesmerizing, isn't it?" Hermione leaned over the girl's shoulder, smiling at her warmly. She remembered well the feeling she had upon learning that she was a witch and when she first received her wand. The feeling was so intimate and tremulous. Apparently, something similar was taking place in Amanda's heart. "Don't worry, it is yours, from now on you and it are one."

Amanda nodded, tore herself away from her wand at last, closed the box and put it in her bag. She then took out a textbook. She opened the book randomly to a page – "Hogwarts, the History", Hermione read – and began studying the pictures with the same rapt expression.

"How do they move?" Amanda whispered, looking up at Hermione.

"Magic, a special solution, and a few spells. In our – and yours too, now – world it is quite ordinary; you will get used to it. There are plenty of paintings at Hogwarts and all of them move and even talk. There are also ghosts."

Amanda's eyes widened in fear:

"Ghosts?"

"Yes, but don't you worry – they are kind and they don't do anyone any harm."

Hermione was looking at the girl with muted tenderness in her eyes. Everything was so new for her; the unknown frightened her and yet beckoned. Hermione was like that herself once. A lot of time passed; she had lost the naïveté and the impressionability; the magical world became commonplace to her. Hermione often missed the enchantment of her first year at Hogwarts.

"What if I cannot do magic?" asked Amanda very quietly, "What if I fail?"

"You won't fail, don't worry. The school's teachers are wonderful; they will teach you everything and will always be there to help. You'll be one of the smartest witches in your year, you'll see."

Hermione smiled a little sadly. She was always the smartest in her year, but did it really help? How many mistakes she'd made, how many times she was too late! Did not her skills and knowledge fail to rescue those who could no longer be brought back?

Thanks to Merlin, sometimes they _were_ enough to stay alive and pull Ron or Harry out of the pickle. Yet, can all her knowledge and even the perfect wizarding skills erase from her memory the horrible expression on Harry's face at the funeral of the last of the Marauders, the last man who linked Harry to his parents, to his godfather – to those who had loved him? Did books hold the power to heal Harry Potter's soul that was literally torn apart after several years of deaths and losses, disappointments, acts of heroism at the edge of strength, feats at the edge of possibility? Hermione knew that nothing would drive the despair of the past from those green eyes – not love, not devotion, not friendship. It can hide, fade a little, but would never disappear. Magic spells for that were not taught in school.

"Hermione, are you here?" Ginny snapped her fingers in front of her friend's face. Hermione smiled wanly and looked at Harry who was tickling Al. They looked so much alike – Albus was a spitting image of his father; even his glasses sat just as awkwardly on his long thin nose. He ruffled his hair and rubbed the back of his neck in the same way. But then, James also copied Harry's signature gestures; he might even have Harry's manner of playing Quidditch. And only the eyes betrayed the difference. Not in colour, but in the kind of life reflected in them. James and Albus led the lives of beloved, sheltered, and cared for urchins. Harry did not look like that even when he was eleven.

Hermione flinched when the bracelet on her wrist became hot. She looked at Harry at once – he was flexing his wrist as well.

Ginny stared at both of them in alarm:

"What?"

Harry rose quickly, looking around him, and Hermione leaned over toward Ginny:

"The red stone signal. 'Be on your guard and report at once to the Ministry.' Something happened." Hermione looked around, taking out her wand in a subtle gesture. "This hasn't happened in about five years."

Harry also looked alarmed, his wand in his hand, his face alert.

"Ginny, let's go. Children, it's time to go home."

He was answered by a disappointed chorus – nobody wanted to leave yet. However, James noticed the look in his father's eyes and spotted the wands in the adults' hands. He took out his wand, stood up, and commanded sternly to the rest:

"If you are told to go home, then everyone gets up and goes."

Under James' strict gaze, the girls and Hugo fell silent. The youth looked up and met the wary stare of silver eyes: Malfoy was almost to their table. By the look on Malfoy's face, James understood that Malfoy had received the danger signal he sent by blinking his eyes three times. Malfoy's wand was now in his hand, but he did not approach; he stood a little apart, watching the family pick up their shopping bags and head for the fireplace hall. James never looked back – he knew that his friend was close and would come to the rescue at any moment.

Hermione, feeling the hot pulse of the bracelet against her wrist, held Amanda's hand tightly in hers. Harry was very worried – Hermione felt that. This meant that he got more information from his bracelet – the Aurors had a more extensive set of signals.

Finally, they arrived to the fireplace. Harry went first – Hermione knew that he wanted to check out the protective spells on the house. He reappeared after a few tense moments and nodded for his family to proceed home. The children were quiet, realizing that something serious had happened. Lily went first; Al, Hugo, and Rose followed. As they disappeared in the fireplace one after another, Hermione was trying to decide what to do about Amanda, but Harry decided it for her.

"I will apparate with her. Wait for me, don't go anywhere," he said curtly to Hermione. Then he turned to James: "James, at the first sign of danger, do not hesitate to use you wand."

"I know, Father, don't worry," and James also disappeared in a burst of green flames.

Harry impulsively hugged pale Ginny.

"Everything will be all right. Look after the children," He nudged his wife slightly towards the fireplace, "Ginny, go!"

When his wife was gone, Harry took Amanda in his arms and left the fireplace hall.

"Hold on to me tightly," He tried to speak calmly so as not to frighten her, "It will be a bit unpleasant, but don't get scared – it will be over soon. Do you trust me?"

When Amanda nodded, clutching at her uncle's shirt, Harry pressed her tighter to him and turned on the spot, dissolving into the air. A second later he stood in front of his own gate, and Amanda was holding on to him for dear life, her eyes tearful and frightened.

"Everything is okay," he said, trying to comfort her while glancing quickly up and down the street. It seemed deserted, but Harry quickly stepped into the gate and behind the first line of defense. Only when he locked the door behind him and walked into the silent living room, he relaxed slightly.

"Harry, what..?"

Harry didn't let his wife finish the sentence, setting Amanda to her feet:

"No time, they are waiting for us. Ginny, write to the Dursleys that their daughter is with us and that I will bring her home as soon as I get off work. Don't go outside. I will ask Ted to check on you."

"Ginny," Hermione looked at her friend a little nervously, "Write to Ron – he needs to be careful. Tell him – the red stone signal, he'll understand…"

"All right… Harry!" Ginny cried when he was already turning away, bringing Hermione with him, "Be careful. Please."

Harry hugged his wife tightly once more, nodded to his son who was serious as never before, and followed Hermione. She entered the fireplace first, and a moment later Harry also threw in the Floo powder and said distinctly: "The Ministry of Magic."

Hermione was waiting for him there, staring fretfully at the Aurors pouring in from all directions and rushing towards the elevators. Something very serious had happened.

Harry took her hand and nudged her towards the elevators, but she stopped and looked her friend straight in the eye:

"Harry, please, be careful, I beg you!"

He smiled slightly and hugged Hermione:

"Everything will be all right, it's just an alarm."

Hermione knew he was lying, however. She knew this by the gleam in his eyes. He was ready to throw himself into battle, to save someone, to pursue, to punish evil. The woman's heart tightened in her chest, and she hugged her friend even tighter:

"Harry, remember that you have a family; you cannot risk them. Remember your father!"

Harry pulled away from her and noticed in surprise that Hermione's eyes shone with tears. Hermione, who always remained calm and now was almost crying for some unfathomable reason. He didn't understand what was happening with women today. He patted her on the shoulder:

"I will be careful, I promise."

Then he turned and merged into the stream of other Ministry employees. Hermione remained standing in the middle of the Atrium, looking on with a faint heart as his ruffled hair disappeared in the crowd.


	7. Prologue - Chapter 7 - Teddy Remus Lupin

_**Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin.**_

Harry walked out of the fireplace as quietly as the Floo Network allowed. He used his wand to clean ash and soot off his clothes and froze for a moment, listening to the silence.

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly and glanced at the clock – it was half past one in the morning. A nice vacation, indeed. He entered the living room and smiled faintly: Ginny was sleeping on the couch, wrapped in a tartan. He face was in the shadows and she was breathing evenly into the cushion.

He caught movement to his left. Harry turned sharply and breathed out in relief. His godson was looking at him from a chair. Lupin held his wand firmly in his hand, but he looked neither alarmed nor tired. Harry nodded toward the kitchen and both men left the living room quietly, careful not to wake Ginny.

Harry lit candles and conjured hot tea for Teddy and himself. After the young man walked in, stretching – stiff from all the sitting – Harry cast one-way sound-proofing charm on the kitchen. Now they could hear any sound from the outside, but nothing said in the kitchen would carry to the outside of it.

Lupin sat at the table, looking at his godfather enjoy sipping the hot tea. Harry Potter looked tired and worried. Teddy had not seen that expression on his godfather's face for a long time.

"Thank you for staying here," Harry said quietly, looking past Teddy. "Were there any problems with Amanda?"

"With Amanda, no," Teddy smiled slightly, brushing ash-blonde locks from his face. He did not often use the trait he inherited from his mother, but he still changed his hair and eye colour about once in half a year. For variety's sake, as he put it. During the last few months he had ash-blonde hair and blue eyes. He had his father's smile and his mother's spunky look in his eyes. "But that relative of yours almost killed me when I walked out of the fireplace with a sleeping child in my arms. I never thought that fear improves Muggles' aim so much… He threw some strange contraption at me."

Harry smiled:

"Well, that's a Dursley for you."

"He threatened to never let his daughter go anywhere, since you were so cavalier about your promise to deliver her home right after the shopping trip."

Harry merely waved off the threat. He couldn't add the concern for insulting Dudley's fatherly sensibilities to all his other woes. He twisted the inconspicuous bracelet on his wrist. The bracelet was still warm.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Teddy finally also started on his tea, "Ginny was going out of her mind, and Jim kept trying to stand guard downstairs.

Harry smiled again – a tired and somewhat detached smile.

"An emergency summons to the Ministry, I take it. Now what?" Teddy very much wanted to know what prompted his godfather to become so concerned about his family's safety for the first time in five or six years. The summons happed before as well – his godfather was an Auror, after all. But for the summons to result in the tightening of the home security system – this hadn't happened in a long time.

Harry nodded, unsure whether he wanted to think over everything that happened today and the causes of it all. A multitude of images swarmed inside his mind.

"Harry."

The man flinched and looked at Teddy's concerned face. His godson was already twenty one; he had recently graduated Hogwarts with honors, and immediately got a job in the "Magical Printing-house". Teddy was marrying Marie-Victoire in the spring. He often said that he considered himself a lucky bloke: a Metamorphmagus with a wonderful grandmother who raised him, and a godfather – his best friend who was both a father and a brother to him.

"There has been an escape from Azkaban. The special section," Harry was staring down at his fingers, twisting a teacup.

"The special section?" Teddy's eyes narrowed – he started to catch on, but he wanted to hear it all from his godfather.

"Yes, that very one," Harry nodded at the tabletop, avoiding Teddy's eyes.

"I remember that section being established. Five years ago, right?"

Harry nodded again, now looking at his godson's calm (too calm) face.

Harry leaned back, letting the memories from five years ago flood his mind. He tried to get away from them all day, but to no avail.

"The case of the werewolves. Remember?"

Teddy nodded, clutching the teaspoon. The teaspoon clanged against the teacup. A son of a werewolf himself, Teddy felt compassion for all members of this strange class.

"I didn't know the details," Lupin said quietly.

"No, not many did, aside from those directly involved."

"You?"

"Yes, it was assigned to my team," Harry sighed, remembering that day almost five years ago. "Everything started with articles in the Muggle newspapers: they started finding bodies of children killed by dogs. Six in all, in one month. All died in the same manner – bitten on the neck and bled to death. All cases were claimed to have happened at full moon or close to it. Our experts were allowed to examine the bodies."

"Werewolves?"

"Yes, all children were bitten to death by werewolves."

"That is, they were bitten to kill, not to be made werewolves?" Teddy clarified. He was pale, his eyes full of despair.

"Those who bit them could not control themselves," said Harry, "Anyway, they assigned this case to my team. We waited for the full moon. There were six more dead Muggle children in one night. We did manage to capture one werewolf, right here in London. A teenager, a fifteen-year-old."

Teddy sat straighter in his chair:

"Fifteen?!"

Harry nodded, glancing at the kitchen door. He didn't want anyone else to hear this story.

"It was Voldemort's plan, carried out by Fenrir Greyback. To create a population of werewolves who could transform at will, not involuntarily and only during the full moon. This population would become part of Voldemort's army. Each werewolf was to conceive a child with a witch – a non-bitten witch. When a child was born, the werewolf would bite the mother and the baby."

Harry retreated into his thoughts, remembering the terror he felt after learning of this. Teddy was taking deep breaths, seemingly lost in his own personal thoughts.

"Was this plan ever realized?"

"Yes. As we found out, by the time of Voldemort's death, about twenty such children had been born. The werewolf families lived on a reservation in the mountains, waiting for their time to act. As part of the plan, the children were given Wolfsbane Potion, so that they wouldn't know the taste of human blood. The settlement was closed to the outsiders. After Voldemort's downfall, the remaining werewolves hid on this secret reservation. They carried on what they had started with Riddle. They decided that they would create enough werewolves to defeat the wizards."

"The same old agenda," Teddy said bitterly. The pallor began to recede from his face.

"Yes, Greyback left his mark on history. Anyway, they lived quietly and circumspectly in the mountains, occasionally attacking animals and passersby. They lived in secret until the children grew up and decided that they were tired of the quiet living."

"How many were there?"

"About thirty, between ten and sixteen years of age. All of them werewolves, none of them with any moral code. They did not obey anyone anymore and wanted to go their own way. They managed to escape their parents' control and began attacking children. We caught one of them."

Harry fell silent again, remembering the face of their captive – a charming boy with an earnest eyes and a child's blood on his face and clothes. The man shuddered.

"You caught them, right? It was in the papers."

"We caught them," Harry echoed. For the first time he was on the verge of telling the truth about the events in the werewolves' gorge. This knowledge was limited to a narrow circle of Ministry workers. "We surrounded their settlement three days before the full moon. The adults tried to resist, although many of them did not have wands. And then _they_ joined the fray. The teenagers, the outcome of Voldemort's experiments. Werewolves, who could transform outside of the full moon."

Teddy looked at his godfather, aghast. What Harry was relating was terrifying.

"They could transform at will and, as you know, werewolves are practically impervious to usual spells. Only the _Avada Kedavra_ worked, but even it most often failed to kill, only to stun or maim, at times. However, there were many of us, and we were people with experience. Their number kept shrinking when _this_ happened." Harry closed his eyes remembering the gorge: the twilight, the screams and growls around him, green and red spell flashes, dilapidated shacks, and _him_. "A werewolf rushed at me. I barely managed to raise my wand when one of my comrades shouted the spell. However, nary a moment beforehand, a woman stepped in between the werewolf and the green jet. It was his mother."

Harry's voice broke and he buried his face in his hands. That woman's scream still echoed in his ears. And her eyes. The eyes of the mother who stood between her son and death.

"She died instantly," Harry forced himself to continue, "I was in a real stupor, as if paralyzed. The werewolf instantly transformed into a boy – could not have been more than thirteen – and dropped to his knees, hugging his mother's body to him. Then he threw himself at me – a child, with his small fists and his teeth bared. The hood fell off my head. Then the others grabbed him and led him away."

"He saw your scar, didn't he?" Teddy asked quietly, mechanically taking sip of his already cold tea.

"I think so," Harry nodded, and he stirred on his chair, trying to push away the memory of the eyes full of hatred, the eyes that promised revenge. "Those who survived – ten teenagers-werewolves – were sent to Azkaban, to the special section. It was created for them. A cellar with only a hatchway in the ceiling. There was no light, no air, nothing at all. Just a hole in the ground, with them in it. The guards threw food and the Wolfsbane Potion down through the hatchway. No one was allowed to contact them – they were deemed dangerous. The Ministry feared that someone would gain knowledge of the new breed of werewolves or that they would escape and somehow enter the wider world. Cruel, wasn't it?"

Teddy saw the bitter smile on his godfather's face and felt momentarily sorry for those boys.

"So, they did escape."

"Yes, the Ministry was right at least about that. They escaped. When a guard who brought them food did not hear anything below, he sounded alarm. When the others went into the cellar, they found nothing, save the dead body of one of the boys and an underground passage. They didn't take the potion for five years and clawed their way out. The passage connected the cellar with the seashore. They must have swum from there. We found the spot on the mainland where they came ashore, I was there three hours ago. There were three more dead bodies there."

Teddy looked askance at his godfather.

"No, that boy's body was not among the three. He is alive and free. And five others with him. And they are not children any longer."

All became silent in the kitchen.

"Will you tell Ginny?"

Harry shook his head:

"Not everything, only certain facts. I don't want to scare her."

"But she must know that you are in danger!"

"No. She tends to worry over nothing, as it is. I don't want to place an even bigger burden on her," said Harry and broke off abruptly. His last words suddenly brought back the memory of the grey-bearded wizard crying in his study. His Teacher said almost the same thing the night Sirius died. "I will not frighten her."

Teddy shook his head in disagreement, but he didn't say anything. He stood up and reached out to shake his godfather's hand:

"I must be going, I promised Marie to return home. If you need me, you know where to find me."

His godfather nodded as he shook Lupin's hand. He then patted him on the shoulder and walked him to the fireplace, marveling all the while at how much the son resembled his father. Never having known Remus Lupin, Teddy Remus Lupin followed his life's path with the same inner light as his father.


	8. Prologue - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Chapter 8. The Potters.**_

Harry slowly approached the couch where Ginny lay sleeping. Judging by her squeezing her eyes and sighing, her sleep was fitful. He stood over her for a little while, admiring her face, then turned around and went upstairs to check on the children.

Since James' first day of life his father would come to the nursery at bedtime to pat his son on the head or to kiss his daughter goodnight, to tuck them in, and to tell a funny story. He wanted his children to feel that they had a father who loved them, who cared about them. Harry wanted them to have what he never had.

He quietly opened the door to James' room. The room was a complete mess: an open chest with robes, books and brochures thrown in hap-hazardly; a stack of clean and neatly folded shirts and T-shirts that Ginny had put on the made-up bed; the Gryffindor coat-of-arms and some drawings hanging over the bed. The only thing missing was James himself.

Without closing the door, Harry quickly walked to the next room – Lily's bedroom. The wave of relief and unadulterated love wash over him at once. They were here, all three of them. Lily slept on the bed; Albus squeezed up against her, clutching her hand. James was also asleep – in the rocking chair – but was still firmly gripping his wand.

Harry smiled, looking at the children. His children. The flesh of his flesh. The closest and dearest. He would die for them. He would go through everything that he had gone through in his life all over again for them. Come to think of it, his whole life was for the sake of this moment, for the sake of his three children, for the sake of this quiet evening at his home.

He walked into the room, trying not to make any noise and wake his children, bent over Lily and carefully freed her hand from Albus' grasp. The girl stirred and her eyes half-opened.

"Shhhh…," Harry put his finger to his lips, "Sleep, darling."

The girl merely nodded, half-asleep, and snuggled more comfortably in bed. Harry carefully picked Albus up and left the room with his fragile load. Harry pressed his son's slender body to his chest – how light he was!

The little Harry Potter, only minus the scar and the difficulties of his childhood; a quiet, somewhat naïve boy, who adored sweets; a little starry-eyed, always lost in his childish fantasies and thoughts; always breaking, cracking, or dropping something; insanely kind; a boy with such demanding names.

Harry used his shoulder to push open the door to Al's room – the room littered with candy wraps and boxes, broken toys from the Weasleys' shop, balled-up socks and paper, cracked teacups, and torn pictures.

Harry sat on the bed, pushed aside the covers and put his son down, covering him carefully with the blanket. Albus mumbled something in his sleep, curled up into a ball and put his hands under his cheek. His father took off his glasses and put them on his bedside table. Then he smoothed the tousled black hair and kissed the top of his son's head.

"Good night, Albus Severus. Sweet dreams."

Al mumbled something again, pressing his chocolate-sweetened palm to his cheek. Harry stood up and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

In Lily's bedroom he stood still for several moments, his hands in his pockets, staring at his daughter. Her red hair fanned out on her pillow. Such a dear girl. She was born when Harry was on a business trip. He came back and couldn't believe his eyes – she was so tiny and so beautiful; and so easily amused: whenever he picked her up, she would always start giggling.

She had a huge and kind heart – she always brought home stray dogs, wounded birds, and ready-to-pop pregnant cats. She was always merry and smiling – like a sun, like the light that healed and gave power to fight on. Harry's mother must have been like that; Harry was almost sure of that.

"Daddy," said the quiet voice, and he started. Lily was not asleep. He came to her bedside and sat down on the edge of the bed. Lily immediately inched closer to him, taking his hand.

"Your hands are so cold," she whispered, looking fearfully at her father, "And you look tired."

"Yes, it was a long day," Harry nodded, stroking her small wrist. "Did I wake you?"

She nodded, but smiled tenderly at her father. They were silent for a while.

"Dad, did you ever have strange dreams? Reality-like dreams? Or maybe vision-like?"

Harry flinched again: he saw many such dreams. And not only dreams – visions that involved other people; other lives; deaths; losses. Not that he would tell his daughter that.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason," she shrugged, averting her eyes, "Were you at work?"

Harry nodded.

"Anything happened?"

Harry stroked his daughter's red hair.

"No, nothing special."

"I see," she smiled slightly. "Daddy, what are you giving James for his birthday?"

"A watch. My godfather's watch."

"Sirius Black's watch?" Lily marveled, but then hastily covered her mouth with her hand and looked back at her sleeping brother. "Where did you get it?"

"I once got around to visiting his vault at the Gringott's. That watch was in there – he got it for his seventeenth birthday. I figured that James would like it."

"Oh, he will," Lily agreed and then looked at her brother again. "He invited Malfoy to his birthday party, did you know that?"

"I know now. It's ok, they are friends," Harry also turned toward James. "I don't know whether to wake him up or levitate him to his room. I don't think that he'd like it if I carried him."

"Hey!" the young man growled, stirring in the chair, "I would ask you to refrain from any compromising acts toward my person here."

"You weren't sleeping!" Lily chortled.

"Aha, although when you spoke of my birthday present, I turned momentarily deaf," James opened his eyes and the three of them laughed. Harry got to his feet at the same time James did, leaned over, and kissed Lily's forehead.

"Good night, darling. Sweet dreams."

He and James left the room. James stopped at his bedroom doorway and looked at his father.

"Dad, did anything serious happen?"

"No."

"If it did, would you tell us?"

"No."

"If you were in danger, would you tell us?"

"No."

"I see. Good night," James patted his father on the shoulder and went into his room.

Harry smiled and went downstairs to the living room, to collect the last family member left to be put to bed. Ginny was no longer alone – a white cat curled up next to her. Harry didn't even know its name – he simply couldn't remember the names of all Lily's pets. Harry only remembered that there were two more cats in the house somewhere – a black and a tabby.

The cat winked its green eyes at Harry who, on impulse, raised his finger to his lips. The beast seemed to understand: he lowered his head onto his feet and fell back asleep. Harry squatted in front of the couch, admiring the sleeping Ginny.

She had been with him for so long that it sometimes seemed to him that they'd been together always. She changed – from a girl in Quidditch robes that she was when he first kissed her, she turned into a young woman, a mother, a doting wife. She became more mature, wiser, less impulsive. But he remembered the little girl who he rescued from the Chamber of Secrets; the girl who helped him survive Dumbledore's death. Ginny Weasley: a whirlwind of emotions, jokes, unexpected decisions and tender loving care. She became his rock; she was his salvation during all those years. That was why he protected her from all the cruel things in his life; just like she was protecting him from his past.

Harry couldn't help himself – he reached out and touched her hair. She started and her eyes flew open.

"You hand is so cold," she whispered, taking his palm and pressing it against her body to warm it up. Then she pulled gently and he responded, pressing her pliant sleepy body to his.

"Mint tea," she breathed into his lips. Harry nodded, stroking her shoulders and back under the thin sweater. He kissed her cheekbones, neck, collarbone, felt her skin burn against his cold hands. Her warm palm slid under his shirt pressing against his quickening heart… Her touch made him press against closer, kissing her lips, trying put all his feelings for her into the kiss. She responded, reveling in the feel of his hands on her stomach, chest and back.

"Ouch!" she cried out quietly, flinching. Harry looked at her, startled.

"What?"

"Someone bit me."

Harry raised his eyebrows, puzzled by her indignation.

"I am not talking about _that_! Someone really bit me," Ginny, slightly annoyed, tucked her legs tighter under her, rubbing her injured calf. Husband and wife saw at once the cause of the commotion as it fell off the couch. The morose-looking cat sat on the floor. Harry laughed.

"I guess, he decided that we violated his privacy," he stood up and lifted Ginny into his arms, tartan and all. "I hope that there are no cats in our bedroom."

She wrapped her arms eagerly around his neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses on his skin. While Harry carried her to their room, Ginny managed to almost completely unbutton his shirt and slide her slender fingers beneath.

"I have been dreaming since morning for the day to end like this," Harry smiled, lowering his wife to the bed. It _had_ been a long day, but he was prepared to prolong it even further. Ginny thought the same, since she immediately pulled him to her, not to let go till daybreak.

_**This completes the Prologue. I will be posting the following chapters as frequently as I can manage to proof-read them. There are many of them coming. If you see typos or grammar/style lapses, please let me know - any input is appreciated.**_

_**Remember, this is a translation. Therefore, any deviations from the canon come from the original story. I felt that it would have been unethical to change anything. Plus, it is fanfiction, after all - I believe that the author has creative license. Any discussion is definitely still welcome!**_


	9. Part I - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**Part One. Ensnared**

_**Chapter 1. James Potter.**_

This was the second day of his headache.

James Potter woke up in the seventh-years' bedroom at the Gryffindor tower and saw this for the cruel unfairness of nature that it was. Lying there with his eyes closed, he understood clearly that, by a monstrous twist of fate, the previous two days must have been borrowed from someone else's life. They simply could belong to him and that ticked him off worst of all!

Everything started with his father being urgently summoned to work on the morning of his birthday; and nothing: not a pile of presents, or the merriment of his big extended family, or the pranks of his Weasley cousins – could improve the situation. His irritation grew with every passing hour. It did not improve his mood that his mother simply did not look happy, despite her best efforts to the contrary.

Finally, by the time Scorpius Malfoy turned up on the Potters' doorstep, James was ready to curse one of the guests. Malfoy suggested a better option – he wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. Sneaking out of the house, the two friends co-Apparated (Malfoy had already took his examinations) to some bar that only a Slytherin would know about, and celebrated the momentous occasion with a couple of bottles of Firewhiskey.

In about six hours, when irritation, anger, pangs of conscience, and other adequate emotions had been successfully drowned in alcohol, James Sirius Potter fell out onto the fireplace rug at the feet of Harry James Potter, who had been just about to go searching for his prodigal son.

The memory of further events was blurry. James could only remember clearly that, while going up to his room, he angrily, loudly, and extensively cursed at his father, mentioning Merlin's underpants, Slytherin's gluteus maximus, and Thestral drool. James couldn't remember whether he crawled up the steps himself, hitting his head on every corner, or his father allowed his head bump the steps a couple of times while levitating him.

However it happened, he woke up in his own bed with a monstrous headache – caused by alcohol and the bump in the back of his head – and the pangs of his whiskey-soaked conscience. It didn't make him happier that his father had left Sirius Black's watch and a birthday card on his bedside table.

The fact that his entire family declared war on him did not improve his sense of well-being. His mother, seeing the tortured look on James' face, did not run to him with an anti-hangover potion and healing spells, but simply handed him a glass of water. Lily dropped her chest on his foot, mumbling with a pretty smile: "Ooops, sorry!" Even Albus, the darling, kind Al – frowned at him while spilling hot milk onto his brother's school slacks. Lily's cat, not to be left out of the family reign of terror, sank his claws into James' arm. Finally, when James was locking up his owl – the Snowy white, his father's gift from six years ago – she bit his fingers.

Anger – that was what the yesterday birthday boy felt while stuffing his luggage in the trunk of the car. Even if the idea to apologize to his parents for the spoiled celebration had crossed his mind, it immediately evaporated when Lily said that father would meet them at the station with Amanda Dursley, whom we went to collect early in the morning. During the taxi ride, James was scowling silently while Albus was wiping his candy-sticky hands on his clothes.

At the train station, James didn't even look at his father. He quickly passed through the barrier and, with a curt "See you at Christmas!" over his shoulder, went to search for Malfoy. Both horribly hung over, they locked themselves in the compartment and slept through most of the trip. In the Big Hall, James put as much distance as he could between himself and Lily, who, judging by the look on her face, was about to lecture him. He literally escaped from the room when they were sent to bed, happy in the knowledge that his sister would be otherwise occupied – six first years required the prefect's immediate attention.

He slept soundly, hoping that his headache would be gone by morning. His hope had been in vain – it wasn't. And so, he was lying in bed, thinking that he shouldn't have mentioned Merlin's underpants in vain. Merlin must have gotten mad.

The youth sat up in bed, giving up on sleep. He only had one option – to turn to Madam Pomfrey for help. James got dressed quietly, quickly tied his tie, pulled on his robes, and left the room where his classmates still slept peacefully.

The common room was empty; the fire in the fireplace had gone out. The bulletin board, however, already had the list of rules and regulations and the annual message from Filch posted (nasty old git!).

James got out through the hole behind the Fat Lady's portrait and shivered. For some reason, the castle was quiet cold. The Gryffindor quickly reached the hospital wing, his footsteps echoing in the still silent hallways. He was ready to open the door when it opened, and a girl came out and bumped into him. He steadied her and immediately jumped away – in front of him was Xenia Verdi, just as beautiful as she had been a few days ago, at the Diagon Alley.

"Hello," Xenia said in surprise, also stepping back. James tried to say something in response, but his voice wouldn't obey him. His head began hurting more. "James, is it?"

He nodded and ruffled his hair absentmindedly, trying to think of someone to say. He looked over her slender form clad in green-trimmed robes and green tie. Xenia merely raised a blond eye-brow.

"Are you in Slytherin House?" James forced out, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, yes," she looked annoyed for some reason. James was searching hastily for a topic of conversation. "Are you ill?"

"What?" flinched the Gryffindor, "Oh, yeah. Well, not actually. It's just that…"

"Just passing by, right?" Xenia smiled, leaning against the door frame. The conversation was not flowing easily, but she didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave.

James nodded, thrusting his hands in his pockets and eying his shoes with sudden interest. Damn, he should have polished them. He missed the moment when the girl took a step toward him and put her palm to his forehead. The Gryffindor shrank back and almost fell. Xenia did not laugh, however.

"You have a headache," she said, but did not repeat her gesture. James looked at the Slytherin girl in surprise, when a voice behind him said mockingly:

"A nice time for a date. Not to mention the place," James and Xenia turned around to look at Scorpius Malfoy, who was approaching them with a lazy smile on his pale visage, "Or does the hospital wing now rent beds by the hour?"

The corners of Xenia's mouth twitched slightly upward, but she silently walked past James and Malfoy. Both seven-years turned their heads, watching her leave.

"You are staring at her legs," Malfoy mocked quietly.

"I have every right, you were ogling my sisters," James retorted.

Xenia disappeared around the corner in the distance and the young men turned to look at one another. A shocked silence lasted for another moment to be broken by a burst of laughter. The friends leaned weakly against the wall, occasionally looking at each other and waving their arms.

"Me too, right?" Scorpius managed to get out. He raised his hand and felt his hair, trying to see if a stupid pink ribbon graced the top of his head, as it did James'. The Gryffindor nodded, which took quite a lot of effort, for he was still convulsing with laughter. "Wow! I didn't even notice!"

They tried to get rid of Xenia's parting gifts for another couple of minutes – for some reason, the ribbons refused to unglue themselves from their hair. They finally managed to use their wands to cut the ribbons off with minimal damage to their hairdos, and walked toward the Big Hall. James noticed with surprise that his headache was finally gone and that Xenia's joke markedly improved his disposition.

They entered the hall together. The ceiling was as clear as the sky outside the windows today. James glanced at the teachers' table – Hagrid waved a greeting to him, almost knocking poor Flitwick off his chair, and Professor Longbottom gave him a wink. Minerva McGonagall who had been the headmistress of the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the past twenty years sat regally in her chair. She was talking with old Slughorn. The head of Gryffindor, Professor Faust who taught Defense against the Dark Arts was overseeing the behaviour at the student tables. His dark eyes paused on each student who yawned or talked loudly.

James waved at Malfoy and sat down at the Gryffindor table, only now realizing that he was famished. Yesterday at the feast he couldn't really eat, but today he was ready to devour everything that the house elves had cooked, and still ask for seconds.

"Your schedule!" the parchment roll hit James in the face and dropped into his plate. The youth looked up, while picking up the parchment, but Lily had already strode past him, walking down the line of students and giving out schedules. How long was she going to be mad?!

"Seen this?" Malfoy landed next to him, apparently satiated and even almost content. He also held a parchment in his hand. "We have the same classes every day."

"So what?" James was studying his schedule, "Am I supposed to be happy about this? Although… compared with a Slytherin's, my erudition has always looked quite impressive."

Malfoy's eyebrow rose skeptically and he was about to respond, when he heard a thundering voice above them:

"Are you lost, Malfoy?"

The chaps looked up at Lily who was glaring at the Slytherin.

"That could be easy to do, wouldn't it?" Scorpius drawled, slowly running eyes from the girl's face down to her neck and chest, concealed by the white uniform shirt. "I didn't know that the Gryffindor prefects wore uniforms that were less… sturdy."

Lily blushed: "I didn't know that Slytherins needed a map and a compass to find their table! And if you don't stop ogling me right now, Rose's slap will feel like a tender touch to you compared to mine."

With this, the girl turned on her heels and walked out of the Hall without a backward glance, her chin raised proudly. Rose caught up with her at the exit and both disappeared from sight.

"Listen, is there a single member of your family who is not aware of Weasley slapping me?" Malfoy shook his head in displeasure, picked up his fork, and stabbed an apple in front of him.

"Five points off the Slytherin House," a deep voice pronounced above the boys' heads. Professor Faust materialized noiselessly behind them, "for inappropriate behaviour during a meal. I never thought that a Malfoy was not taught proper manners. And now you must hurry, if you don't want to be late for your first class."

"He never thought," Scorpius grumbled as he and James hurried away, "You've got to have a brain for that."

"Oh, come off it," James shrugged, "We really do have to get a move on, or McGonagall will take something more serious than points off us."

The two friends entered the Transfiguration classroom, sat behind their favorite desk in the back, and took out their textbooks. James glanced absently over his female classmates, who had gotten taller and more mature over the summer. The girls changed their hairdos, but still giggled and made eyes. Only one girl in the front row looked intently at the blackboard and ignored everyone around her.

"Should we give the ribbons back to her?" Malfoy nudged his friend, nodding toward Xenia.

"Aha, and then McGonagall will hand you back the ribbons _and_ your slippers," James' eyes followed the Transfiguration professor who had just walked in. Silence fell and all students turned their attention toward her.

The first class session, devoted to the transfiguration of a living creature into another living creature was not easy or peaceful, nor was it expected to be. For about twenty minutes they had to write down definitions and long formulas. By the time Professor McGonagall allowed them to take out their wands and try transfiguring mice into hedge-hogs they felt like they had had a full day of studying behind them.

"Mr. Malfoy, one more ribbon on your mouse and you will have detention," the professor threatened. James smiled, peeking askance at his friend – enraged, Scorpius waved his wand and his spell hit Emma Thomas in the seat in front of him. The girl flinched and turned around, eyes blazing:

"Hey, watch what you are doing, you idiot!" she hissed, pointing her wand at Malfoy. "The fact that you are friends with Potter does not mean that I won't knock your eye out."

"He didn't do it on purpose," James intervened on Malfoy's behalf, eying Emma's wand warily.

"Potter, you are a disgrace to this House, so you'd better keep quiet," Thomas retorted, looking at her classmate in disdain, "You place is in Slytherin, with others like this one!"

James almost involuntarily waved his wand and a pink ribbon materialized at the top of Emma Thomas' head. The class fell silent.

"Potter! Malfoy! Detention!" Professor McGonagall sounded annoyed, but not surprised. She shook her head: "Nothing seems to have changed so far this year."

The silence in the classroom was broken by a chuckle from Xenia, who bit her lip, looking at the pink ribbon on Emma Thomas' head.


	10. Part I - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

_**Chapter 2. Lily Potter.**_

Lily entered the Gryffindor common room with a single thought in her mind: to get to her bedroom and go to sleep. There were many students in the round room, who seemed to have an easier time with their first two days of school. Her only hope was that tomorrow would be Saturday and she would get a chance to sleep and rest, although the amount of homework that they had been given would make it necessary to spend half of Sunday in the library.

She did not succeed in slipping through the common room undetected. As the prefect, she was immediately surrounded by the first years with their mundane questions. Can they take library books out of the building? Where was the Lost and Found? What was the nearly headless ghost's name? Could she help with the homework on Charms? Lily patiently responded, but even after she was done, she still couldn't leave because she saw an empty chair by the fireplace – the chair where her brother customarily sat in the evenings, doing his homework or writing letters. James wasn't in it now, but Lily remembered that she hadn't gotten a chance to speak to him. It was high time she did.

"Emma, have you seen James?" Lily left her school bag on one of the hassets and walked over to where her brother's classmate sat. The other girl scowled furiously, her hand involuntarily flying to the top of her neat hairdo, but she answered:

"He is at McGonagall's."

"Again?" Lily thought dejectedly that every one of her brother's semesters started the same way – with detention. "Thanks."

She left the common room, avoiding the next round of questions from students, and walked toward the Transfigurations classroom. She firmly decided to catch up with her brother, who made a point of avoiding her for the past several days.

"Lily! Lily!"

The prefect turned around and smiled at Amanda who was running to catch up with her. Amanda's school robes hung slightly askew on her shoulders and looked like a foreign component of her outfit. Her school tie also shifted to one side, which made Amanda look quite odd. Despite all that, the girl looked content and even happy, as she halted in front of Lily.

"Hello! How are you doing? How are your first days of school?" Lily asked looking at Amanda's glowing face. The Hat sorted her into Hufflepuff, which made it difficult for Lily to look after her cousin, as her father had requested.

"Everything is wonderful. Our Head of the House is very nice and he knows Uncle Harry. Also, a plant bit me during the Herbology class," Amanda told her, her words tripping over one another. "I was the first to complete a Charms class assignment and got ten points. And on Monday, I'll start flying lessons. And this morning I received a letter – by an owl – from Uncle Harry."

"Really?" Lily was surprised – her father had not written her. "What did it say?"

"Oh, nothing special," the girl shrugged, "Just asking whether I was all right and how my first day was. I will make sure to write him back."

"All right," Lily nodded, remembering her mission. "I'll see you later."

Amanda smiled and ran off somewhere. Apparently, she was so overflowing with new impressions that she could not simply walk.

Lily finally reached the classroom where her brother was assigned to serve his detention. She opened the door and saw two heads – black and silvery-blond – bent over the parchments.

"… didn't think that she could kiss," Lily must be overhearing a phrase from the boys' prior conversation. Malfoy scratched the back of his head with his quill and continued: "What do you think, Potter, does this mean that she wants me? Or is it something else that only crazy girls with small breasts know about?"

James chuckled, still engrossed in his parchment. Lily decided that it was time to reveal her presence, before the conversation became even more risqué. She intentionally stomped her feet as she walked toward the desk where the two friends sat. When they raised their heads and turned around Lily understood that their assignment was to make new copies of the handbook on conduct in the Hogwarts hallways. Not the most pleasant of tasks, and one that would take more than one day.

James and Scorpius watched in silence as she walked around the desk and stood before them, her arms folded, and her eyes mocking.

"Same thing every year. I think that by the time you graduate, you will also receive the diplomas of professional scribes."

"What, you've got nothing better to do? Why don't you go and lecture the first years on how to become a nerd by fifth grade?" James said, looking down at his parchment. Malfoy hemmed but otherwise remained silent.

"I came to talk to you," said Lily seriously to her brother.

"I don't need that lecture, I am already a lost cause," James dipped his quill in red ink. "Don't waste your strength."

"I want to talk to you about parents," said Lily with a trace of anger in her voice.

"Am I intruding on a family rendezvous?" Malfoy raised one blonde eyebrow. His copying work was not progressing very quickly.

"No!"

"Yes!" the girl exclaimed angrily, leaning on the desk and staring at James. "I won't leave until I have told you what I have to say."

"All right, I'll give you a few minutes' privacy," said Malfoy reluctantly, getting up and stretching.

"Well, what is it?" James asked defiantly once the door closed behind his friend.

Lily sighed deeply before proceeding:

"You were really rotten to parents, you know!"

"I didn't know that my conscience had red hair and her name was Lily."

"Oh, stop clowning around!" Lily came closer, putting her hands palms down on the desk where her brother sat, and hovering menacingly over him. "You ditched your own birthday party, without saying a word to anyone! You made Mum upset! She was worried about you! She couldn't sit still all evening! You didn't even bother to inform us that you were perfectly all right and were merely getting sloshed with your buddy in a bar! You yelled at father!"

"It's his fault!" James managed to cut into his sister's tirade, "He deserved it!"

"Are you some kind of idiot? Do you think that he would have left on a day like that unless it was absolutely necessary? Did you even ask him where he went instead of partying with you? Did you?! No, of course not, you were too insulted! Little James got cheated, he was not the center of his Daddy's universe!"

"I…" James attempted to defend himself, but Lily would not be stopped.

"Father came home from work, hungry and exhausted; he had rushed to congratulate you, but instead, he had to drop everything and go searching the bars for you! He had to comfort Mum; it was already dark outside! And you, a drunken pig, yelled at him and blamed him for Merlin only knows what…"

"You weren't in the room…" James protested weakly.

"Your shouts carried to the rest of the house just fine, thank you! You gave Albus a fright! And father, instead of slapping you as you deserved, merely put you to bed and took it all on the chin. He defended you before Mum! But no, you were upset; you were tragically misunderstood and abandoned! Why did you treat them like that at the train station?"

Lily's voice broke, she caught her breath, staring directly at her brother, whose ears were slowly turning red and eyes – guilty.

"He found time to see off this Muggle-born girl to school, but he didn't have time to stop by and congratulate me!" James forced out.

Lily smiled slightly:

"You are such a baby, with all your jealousy, big boy. Actually, he came to see _you_ off as well. It was you who took off, like an ungrateful git, without saying so much as goodbye to him or to Mum. Do you have any idea how much you upset them?" Lily started getting riled up all over again, remembering the lost expression on her father's face as he was trying to console her mother as she sobbed. Hermione even went looking for James, in order to take her wayward nephew to task, but to no avail. Uncle Ron threatened to give the boy a thrashing, but Lily's father was silent, simply taking Lily's mother in his arms and stroking her back.

James was quiet now, his head down, biting his lip. Lily searched inside her robes pocket and handed something to her brother:

"Take this. You forgot your present."

James saw Sirius Black's watch, which his father gave him for his birthday. He didn't forget it; he left it behind intentionally. He had been angry and upset. Now, judging by the look in his eyes, James realized how badly he had messed up.

The youth slowly held out his hand, and his sister put the watch in his palm. Suddenly James took off and ran out of the classroom, leaving the door open behind him. In the remaining silence Lily looked, perplexed, at the scattered rolls of parchment the chaps left behind.

"So, did Potter run from his conscience or merely to the bathroom?"

Lily looked up – Malfoy stood next to a desk in the back of the room, his arms folded. His robes were casually unbuttoned and his tie was loosened, which gave him a look of an aristocrat at leisure. No other person, as far as Lily remembered, could make the uniform look so… intensely attractive.

"Potter, did you make yourself go deaf yourself while screaming at him?"

Lily closed her eyes tiredly:

"Malfoy, do me a favor and shut it."

The other shrugged and walked to his desk, but did not resume writing. Instead, he sat down and stared blatantly at Lily. She matched his stare, but soon gave in:

"What are you staring at?"

"I didn't know that not only talking, but looking was prohibited," Scorpius smiled slyly, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. "Is this a new set of rules and regulations from a Gryffindor prefect?"

"Oh, go to hell!" Lily turned on her heel and began to walk away, furious at both James and his mate.

"Only if you go along, Potter; they don't let in anyone without red hair association!" Malfoy mocked after her, but the girl left the classroom without looking back and almost ran to the Gryffindor tower.

She finally reached her room. All in all, she liked being a prefect. She had private room where she could be alone, which more than compensated her for all the occupational hazards of taking her duties seriously.

Buster, a white fluffy cat with shrewd eyes, curled up on her bed. Lily sat down and stroked his back. The cat purred. The girl wanted to read something before bed, but all the useful books remained in the common room downstairs and she wasn't about to go there. Therefore, Lily merely undressed and dove under the covers, with Buster curling up again on her feet.

Sleep evaded her, although her mind was empty. She had stayed in bed for about half an hour, staring at the ceiling, when someone knocked on her door.

"Enter," Lily rose on her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Of course, it was James. He wouldn't be James Potter if he didn't come.

"I brought your bag," her brother walked to the middle of the small room and looked around for a place to put her things.

"Thank you. You can put it next the desk," Lily smiled softly at him and moved over when James moved as to sit down on the edge of her bed.

"You were right," he said simply, looking at his sister. "I was a git. I will write to father first thing tomorrow and apologize."

"Oh, well, it happens." Lily patted his hand.

"Thank you."

"For what, for yelling at you?" Lily smiled, "Any time. Always at your service."

James laughed. Then he leaned over, kissed his sister on the cheek and stood up:

"Have a good night."

"You too."

Lily watched James leave the room and then lay back on the pillows. In a few minutes she was sleeping peacefully, with a smile on her lips.


	11. Part I - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

_**Chapter 3. Harry Potter.**_

It was so nice to be lying in bed early in the morning, pressing his beloved wife to him and fantasizing about not having to run anywhere, and to seek out, comfort or reprimand anyone. He wanted to spend Saturday with his family, have dinner at the Weasley's, fly broomsticks with Albus, take a stroll with Ginny, and then sit down in the evening and write a letter to his children at Hogwarts. Harry fervently hoped that it would work out just so, but some sixth sense that awoke at the same time he did was telling him that his fantasies would remain just that. Still, he had decided that just for today he would forget about the sixth sense and at least have a peaceful morning – without the Ministry, werewolves, dead children, and a nagging fear that none of it was simply a coincidence.

He was in a rosy mood. However, something kept getting in the way of this feeling of absolute content. Oh, yeah, James.

Harry very slowly pulled his arm from under Ginny's head, slid from under the covers, pulled on the pajama bottoms, took his glasses and wand from the bed-side table, and went downstairs to the kitchen. He finally felt well-slept and rested. In the last few days he had to jump up early and run, barely finding time to sleep or eat.

Today was Saturday, however. The sun was peeking amiably into the kitchen windows. A lonely glass with leftover milk stood in the middle of the table – Al must have had trouble sleeping at night. It sometimes happened to him when he ate a lot of sweets before bed. It was strange that his youngest son managed to remain so thin while always munching on candy and other sweets.

Harry put the tea kettle on the stove – he loved the sound of the boiling kettle coming from the kitchen in the morning. Using spells robbed mornings of their magic. And so, Harry put his wand on the counter, opened the refrigerator, and tried to decide what to eat while his wife was still asleep. He didn't cook often because he never quite mastered the household spells and he had no desire to do Muggle cooking – he had done enough of it while living with the Dursleys.

He was very hungry, but it didn't even occur to him to wake up Ginny, especially taking into account how tired and pale she had been lately, and the dark circles around her eyes. She refused to go to bed until Harry got home. This is how it always was with them, and it was too late to make changes now.

Harry knew that Ginny was anxious about more than his interrupted vacation, although that was alarming all by itself, but also about her son leaving for Hogwarts angry and upset. Harry understood that Ginny was taking it hard even if she never spoke about James' behaviour.

He finally took a plate of sandwiches from the refrigerator, sat at the counter and began demolishing them one by one, while listening to the kettle boil.

"Good morning, Daddy," Albus shuffled into the kitchen, his hair in disarray and his eyes still only half-opened from sleep. His pajama top was buttoned incorrectly, which made him look charmingly goofy. His slippers with three mismatched ears sewn onto them made Harry smile.

"Hello, Al. Why up so early?"

Albus climbed the high stool next to his father's, yawned with gusto, and reached for the candy bowl.

"I fell off the bed," the boy answered simply, unwrapping the candy. Harry looked tenderly at his youngest son.

"And how did that happen?" Harry patted Al's disheveled hair, "Were you learning how to fly?"

"Nah. I was battling a dragon in my sleep," Al explained, stuffing candy in his mouth and smiling contentedly. When he was done chewing, he raised his green eyes to his father, who was patiently waiting for him to continue. "I would have won, too, if I didn't wake up. I stuffed a Drooble's in his jaws, which glued them together, so he couldn't breathe out fire. And then I fell off the bed."

The boy rubbed the shoulder that he must have banged in his fall, but he didn't say anything about it, and Harry did not offer to help. He smiled, looking at Al who had already busied himself with another piece candy. Harry even forgot about not letting Al eat candy before breakfast. He was thinking about how comfortable his son felt coming to his father and telling him about his dream of battling a dragon and how brave he was doing it. He immediately remembered how Uncle Vernon almost got into a car accident when he heard Harry talk about his flying motorcycle dream. This was so long ago. He was just such a boy back then, but with a cursed scar on his forehead – a gift from Voldemort.

Harry unconsciously raised his hand and rubbed the scar. It no longer bothered him and was usually invisible under his hair. Albus followed his gesture and smiled, his cheek dimpling.

"I drew you yesterday, Daddy, and you scar as well. I wonder if Mummy can put a spell on it so that it moves and the lightning flashes. That would be cool, wouldn't it?"

Harry smiled and nodded, imagining the lightning illuminate his forehead. The only thing missing was the thunder.

"Daddy, look, it's Bag," Al nodded toward the window. "He winked at me."

Indeed, Bag, James' Snowy owl, was sat on the window sill. Harry bought her when he and James first visited Diagon Alley to buy school supplies and a wand. They saw Bag at the store and it brought back to Harry Hedwig, a trusted friend of all his school years. James liked the owl very much, and Harry gave her to his son.

Albus jumped off his stool, ran to the window and threw it open. Fresh air, filled with the fragrance of the flowering garden, burst into the kitchen along with the owl. The boy stood by the window.

"Daddy, look, the gnomes are back!"

Harry nodded absently – the gnomes always returned – and took the roll of parchment from Bag. A letter from James, he thought, sitting back down. The kettle boiled and he turned the stove burner off before opening the letter.

As Harry read the letter, the wave of happiness and pride for his son washed over his heart. The boy grew up and learned to admit his mistakes.

"Daddy, what did Jim write?" Albus got back to his candy.

"That he misses you," Harry smiled. _And that he is sorry for his behaviour. That he loves his parents and that he is sorry to have upset his mother. That he likes the watch very much, will wear it with pride, and take good care of it in memory of his father's godfather._

"Good morning, my men," sleepy-looking Ginny appeared in the kitchen, tying the belt of her robe. He cheeks were rosy and her eyes glimmered. She looked at Albus (he hid the candy he had been unwrapping behind his back), at Harry, and at the letter in his hand. Then she saw Bag who was sitting on the window sill and clearly preparing to take off.

"From James?" she asked hopefully, and Harry nodded, handing her the letter. The morning has definitely been a success.

They had breakfast together and by noon they were ready to depart for Grandpa Weasley's house where the members of his big family usually gathered on Saturdays. When Potters emerged from the kitchen fireplace at _The Burrow_, the merriment of their young nieces and nephews was in full swing, and the Weasley wives were busy cooking. Bill, who was engaged to set the tables in the garden, nodded affably at them as he passed by, escorting a flying stack of plates.

"Albus!" Arthur Weasley, his hair now completely grey, wearing an old vest made by the late Mrs. Weasley, embraced his grandson. The boy put his hand promptly in his grandfather's vest pocket and fished out a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

Ginny joined Fleur and Angelina, George's wife, in the kitchen, while Harry and Mr. Weasley went to the living room where almost nothing has changed in the years after the Weasley family lost Molly.

"Ron and Hermione will be here soon," Arthur said, sitting down in the old chair and looking at his son-in-law. Harry, slowly, as he always did when finding himself in the beloved _Burrow_, looked over the familiar corners, walls, things on the shelves, portraits, toys, and sheets of paper strewn everywhere. This was his home – a house full of happy memories, pleasant surprises, and people dear to his heart.

Over there, by the fireplace, Remus Lupin liked to sit with a glass of eggnog in his hand. A Christmas tree used to stand in the cornet over there, with a tutu-dressed gnome, bewitched by Fred and George, sitting at the top. And if he went up the stairs, he could find the room where Ginny gave him her gift for his seventeenth birthday.

"Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry!" He was torn away from his musings by the shouts of his red-haired nieces and nephews, as they surrounded him. "Uncle Harry, come teach us to fly a broomstick!"

Harry sighed contritely – this was his cross to bear in this family. He didn't even try to say no anymore. It was useless. He nodded his assent and took off his robe, while the children delightedly ran into the garden to fetch broomsticks from the shed.

Thanks to Merlin, dinner was soon served and Fleur came to fetch the children. Harry put away the broomsticks and joined the rest of the family.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione hugged her friend lightly, looking at him with slight concern, "How are you?"

Ron's wife looked tired as well, because the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was also up to their ears in the case of the werewolves. Harry was only glad that his department handled the worst of it and that Hermione did not have to see blood and death on a daily basis.

_This is not the time for such thoughts_, Harry checked hiself, and he tried to smile sincerely at his friend:

"Everything is all right. James sent a letter today, apologizing to everyone."

Hermione chuckled:

"I didn't doubt that he would. He is a good boy. I think that Malfoy is a bad influence for him."

"Are you sure?" Harry laughed. "I think that they are both a bad influence for each other. I am just waiting for the enraged Draco Malfoy to turn up on my doorstep and demand that I protect his darling son from being the evil wiles of yet another Potter.

They both laughed at that and went over to the dinner table where children were loudly telling their parents what to put on their plates. Albus, as usual, was turning down the soup and Mr. Weasley was trying to convince Muriel, Bill's youngest daughter, not to bring her puppy to the table.

It was a usual Saturday dinner at the Weasley's. Of course, they rarely all gathered there, since Charlie and his family lived in Romania, Bill often traveled on Gringott's business, and most of Arthur Weasley's grandchildren spend many months out of the year at Hogwarts. Despite all this, the dinners were always loud and merry, and laughter, especially that of the children, always rang here, which Harry loved best of all.

In the evening, with the children competing at gnome distance-throwing with Bill, Ron and George, and the women drinking tea and discussing family matters, Harry and Mr. Weasley settled on a bench outside with bottles of butterbeer.

"Your department is in a tizzy right now, isn't it?" Arthur asked quietly, looking sidelong at his son-in-law. Harry nodded, taking a large mouthful of his drink. He knew that the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had huge problems on its hands because Muggle children had been disappearing all over the country for almost a week. When they were found, they were dead. Mr. Weasley who headed this department probably did not know very much, but it was he and his co-workers who were responsible for thinking up cover stories, dealing with witnesses, and comforting Muggles. "Are they getting closer to London?"

Again, Harry nodded. Indeed, the bloody trail of the six werewolves was getting ever closer to the heart of Britain's magical society. Every day Harry and his teams went on locations where the bodies of the Muggle children were discovered.

Once again, children, once again, Muggles. These monsters were true to themselves even after five years of incarceration. They could not be traced – they did not have wands and they hardly used magic. Nobody knew the exact appearance of the six teenagers since nobody was in contact with them for five years and their prior photographs were likely to be useless. A child of thirteen changed drastically by the time he or she turned eighteen, especially if this child lived without light and fresh air. Thus, the photographs of the Azkaban fugitives were hardly helpful in identifying the werewolves.

"Who exactly are they?" Arthur asked, but then added knowingly: "Top secret Ministry information, isn't it?"

Harry nodded again, like a wind-up toy. He didn't want to talk about this, because that meant helping to bring into this beautiful family evening something scary, terrifying; something that could burst in here, into this world, at any moment through the newspaper pages, radio, or owl post; something that was part of Harry's life for the past few weeks: bloody bodies of children, the terror in their still eyes, the tears of their parents, the helplessness of the Ministry, since the werewolves' transformation did not obey the lunar cycle; and the fear – the fear that one day these monsters, the oldest of which was now nineteen, would decide to switch to wizards.

"Harry," he flinched and turned toward Mr. Weasley, who was closely watching the expression on his son-in-law's face, "If we were in danger, you would tell us, wouldn't you?"

"If you were in danger," Harry made a special emphasis on the pronoun, "I definitely would."

Arthur Weasley nodded.

"Harry!" Hermione strode toward him and pointed to her bracelet, which was glimmering blue. Harry caught himself – his was being signaled as well and he missed it. Harry stood up hastily, looking for Ginny or Albus.

"Don't worry, I will make sure that they get home safely," Mr. Weasley put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Good luck. And be careful."

Harry and Hermione both nodded and then hurriedly walked across the yard and out of the gate, from where they Apparated directly to the Ministry.


	12. Part I - Chapter 4 - Ginny Potter

_**Chapter 4. Ginny Potter.**_

To wait and to hope.

To Ginny, these words had long imprinted on her soul like a non-verbal spell, full of love and concern. Yet, never had she clung to them as much as during the last few days. Her astute female intuition, far better than her mind registered the danger that emanated from Harry every time he returned home from work.

Ginny put the tea cups and a cookie bowl on the tray and, as an afterthought, added some candy. With the tray in her hands, she walked into the living room where Ron and Albus were playing chess on the floor. A black cat with a missing ear - bitten off by someone somewhere – who Lily named Lackear because of it – was paying close attention to the chess pieces from his vantage point on the couch.

"Tea is served, gentlemen," Ginny put the tray down next to Ron, who was making a move just then. He momentarily glanced at his sister with an encouraging smile and then returned his attention to the game. Albus would not get distracted even by candy – so engrossed he was in the game. In another moment his piece was dragging Uncle Ron's struggling knight off the board.

Ginny sat down next to them on the floor, leaning her back on the couch and absently watched Albus and Ron. Then, as had become her habit, she looked at the clock. Half past ten. Ron brought them home three hours ago. Ginny was grateful to her brother for company, although she knew that he too did not want to stay in an empty house without Hermione and the kids.

"Check mate!" Albus exclaimed triumphantly, jumping to his feet and clapping his hands. Ginny laughed at the shock on Ron's face, as he stared down at the board and tried to figure out how this could have happened. "I won!"

"Good for you, I told you that you had a talent," Ginny pulled her son close and kissed his cheek, noticing the mischievous look in his eyes. "You won against a man who many years ago managed to win brilliantly against a great Hogwarts professor. I am proud of you."

Ron looked crestfallen as he silently gazed down at his defeated army.

"And now, my champion, off to bed with you; it is late."

"Mum, may I wait for Daddy?"

"You may, but only in your bed," Ginny said sternly, nudging Al toward the stairs. "As soon as he arrives, I will send him to you directly. Ok?"

Albus nodded, took a piece of candy from the tray and, saying "Don't be upset, Uncle Ron, you will win next time," disappeared up the stairs.

"Listen, I still can't figure out how he pulled it off," Ron mumbled, chasing Lackear away from the chess board. The cat was trying to grab a piece for himself. "It seemed as though it was magic…"

Ginny grinned, pouring tea for herself and her brother:

"It wasn't magic, it was cheating."

"Meaning?" Ron eyed his sister suspiciously.

"While you were looking at me, Albus moved two pieces on the board," Ginny smiled, watching Ron's face redden and eyes blaze.

"Why didn't you say something?! That little sneak!" Then Ron finally smiled and started picking up the scattered pieces. Lackear trudged off, disappointed. "Cheat… I hope that he will be sorted into Slytherin, much to his family's disgrace. That's the right place for him with ways like that."

"Ron!" Ginny cried indignantly. "Don't you dare tell him that! Albus is upset as it is. James said once that if Al were sorted into Slytherin, he would turn him into a ferret, so that he would be a disgrace to his family."

"Sounds like James. But then again, he himself is friends with a Slytherin," Ron's face assumed a disgusted expression, just like during his school days, when the three friends spoke of Draco Malfoy. "I still don't understand how you allowed this to happen."

"Stop it Ron; the fact that the boy is Malfoy's son does not make him branded for life," Ginny remarked, more for argument's sake than out of the desire to defend the young Malfoy."

"Oh, yeah. A great friend to get sloshed with to the point of squealing like a pig," Ron chuckled, setting aside his unfinished tea cup. "And to do seven detentions with as many professors in one week." Ginny looked mockingly at her brother. "Rose told me about McGonagall reprimanding the Heads of the Houses for not being able to get a hold on that duo."

"Yes, she told me too," Ginny nodded. "'I am having a déjà vu of James Potter and Sirius Black returning to Hogwarts.' Was this how McGonagall put it?"

Ron nodded, recalling his daughter's words.

"I think that Sirius wouldn't have approved of being compared to a Slytherin," he said, looking up at the clock. Almost eleven.

Brother and sister fell silent, but Ginny was certain that their thoughts ran in similar veins.

"I don't understand how you don't go insane waiting for Harry like this every time." Ron forced out finally, looking pityingly at his sister. "I don't think I could do it."

"You could. And don't tell me that you aren't doing the same thing." Ginny moved closer to her brother and rested her head on his shoulder. "Did you ever think about suggesting that Hermione take a safer job?"

"Are you kidding?" Ron ran his fingers through his sister's red hair, staring down at the top of her head. "She lives to do it! If I even open my mouth to say it, she'll glare at me so I wither and die. I know that this really is the right thing for her, she always wanted to do something like this."

They fell silent again, listening to the clock ticking away time.

"Do you know what's going on?" Ginny sat up straight. "Well, besides the fact of the particularly dangerous prisoners escaping of from Azkaban. There is nothing else useful in the newspapers. Did Hermione say anything?"

"No, you know Hermione," responded her brother lovingly. Ron looked at Ginny's anxious face and she knew that he shared her feelings. "She never breaks the rules. Well, except in an emergency."

Ginny grinned, and her brother returned her grin.

"Harry does not say anything either. I think that it is top secret Ministry information again. Although I am sure that Lupin knows everything."

"Why?" Ron frowned slightly.

"Because Harry doesn't hide anything from him. I am even a little jealous sometimes," Ginny smiled sadly. She looked up at Ron who was staring down at his hands, upset. Ginny knew why. A long time ago his part in the school trio became insignificant. If during the school years Ron was always an equal participant in all their adventures, now Hermione and Harry shared secrets and a job that he could be no part of. Of course, he understood, but he was still upset – Ginny was sure of it. It must have been harder for Ron to take than for his sister – she was never part of the group. Not to count the summer vacations and trips to the Department of Mysteries. Ron, however, had been with Harry always. Yet, everything changed in the last few years.

The clock struck eleven and with the tolling of the clock the familiar footsteps came from the fireplace hallway. Hermione was the first to walk in; Harry followed. Both appeared safe and sound, but tired.

"I though I would find you here," Hermione said to Ron, coming over and lightly touching her lips to his. Ron hugged her tight and was still for a few moments, his face buried in her bushy hair.

"Hello," Harry said quietly into her ear so that that only Ginny could hear him, smiling tiredly. "Sorry that I left you guys."

"It's ok," Ginny stroked his cheek, feeling relief from the nervous tension of the last few hours. "Everything all right?"

He nodded – she didn't expect a different reply. Harry almost never told his family of the rigors of his job. There was no need, really, for Ginny guessed it – by the expression on his face, his cold hands, tired eyes, cold shivers that wracked her husband's body after particularly long hours on call. Harry never brought home anything that would speak about the dark side of his job. It was as if he intentionally shielded this quiet world – the world of his family, his home – from the other world, where there was evil, betrayal, exposures, and, perhaps, death.

"Will you stay for dinner?" Ginny turned to look at Hermione and Ron. Both shook their heads.

"I just want to lie down and not do any…" Hermione said, then broke off, staring at something behind Ginny. Her friend's eyes widened in fear just as Ron blanched. Full of foreboding, Ginny turned sharply toward her husband. He stood, perplexed at their reaction, clasping the robes he had just taken off.

"Harry…" Ginny's voice caught in her throat when she saw what had so scared Ron and Hermione. Harry also looked down and cursed: the entire right side of his shirt – from his shoulder to his cuff – was covered in dried blood stains.

"Dammit, I forgot," he mumbled, quickly unwrapping his robes and trying to put them on. But Ginny wouldn't let him – she stepped toward him, ripped the robes out of his hands, and began unbuttoning her husband's shirt with trembling fingers. He froze for a moment, but then caught Ginny's hands and said evenly:

"Ginny, calm down, I was not hurt. Really. It's not mine." He saw that she didn't believe him, but didn't know how else to prove it to her. If he took off his shirt, his arm would probably also show the stains. He was horrified of his forgetfullness, of scaring his wife, of violating the invisible boundary between work and home. "Trust me, everything is all right."

Harry could no longer bear the looks on his friends' faces; therefore, he turned and went into his bedroom, peeling off the proof of today's horror as he walked. He stopped in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at his whitened face and at his shoulder covered with bloody, and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cold surface. That helped a little.

"Harry."

He opened his eyes and saw the reflection of anxious Ginny standing in the doorway. He shook his head, reached over and turned on the water in the sink. His wife picked up his bloody shirt off the floor. Her hands trembled noticeably.

Harry washed his face and then picked up a sponge and began to rub away the dried blood from his arm and shoulder.

"Whose blood is it?" Ginny demanded, still not moving from her spot.

"Not mine," was all that Harry could manage. He couldn't really tell her about arriving to the scene of yet another attack and finding a boy who survived by some miracle. About catching the thin body in his arms and Apparating to St. Mungo's, praying all the while that the boy would not die. Blood on Harry's shirt and skin was that boy's blood. However, Harry couldn't tell Ginny about all that. Nor did he want to. "Forgive me, I was too exhausted. I didn't mean to scare you."

She was silent for a moment. Then she rolled up his shirt and walked out. Harry sighed deeply and began to undress so that he could take a shower and wash away the reminders of this long day.

Ginny, who stood still outside the bathroom door, started when she heard the sound of the water. She was still clasping Harry's shirt in her hands. She opened her eyes, wiping off the unbidden tears, and rushed into the hallway. She didn't want to do this in their bedroom. Instead, she lit the fire in the hallway fireplace with her wand and threw in the shirt, in an attempt to destroy the traces of blood that Harry brought into their home. She watched with a kind of relish as the shirt burned, as both the white and the red colours faded to black.

When she returned to the bedroom, Harry stood still by the window, his wet hair glistening in the light of the fire he had started in the fireplace. No traces of human suffering remained on his bare arms and shoulders. Ginny came up quietly behind him and embraced him, pressing her face against his warm back. He covered her clasped hands with his – they were cool, but so familiar and beloved.

Ginny looked up and over her husband's shoulder; she saw at what he was staring: a waxing moon, bright-yellow against the dark night sky. Until now, she could easily guess at his thoughts when he was looking at the moon. Harry would remember Remus Lupin, which also meant thinking of Sirius Black, his parents, and Albus Dumbledore. She once asked him whether he ever thought of Snape, but he merely shrugged. She hoped that he did though – after all, he insisted that the portrait of this complicated but incredibly brave man be hung on the wall of the Hogwarts Headmaster's study.

However, all that was before. Now she felt as if she didn't know one percent of what her husband was thinking while looking at the moon and the dark sky. He wouldn't let her know it.

Ginny rubbed her cheek against Harry's back, then unclasped her hands from around him and went to the bathroom, leaving her husband alone with his sad thoughts.

"I promised Al that you would kiss him goodnight when you came back," she said quietly, pausing in the doorway. He started and then slowly turned toward her and nodded, trying to conceal, unsuccessfully, the misery in his eyes. This look made her want to run away. Or to run to him, hug him, comfort him, help him somehow. This too he wouldn't allow her to do.

Ginny disappeared into the bathroom again, leaving her husband alone in the darkened room. Even she – loving and beloved – could not heal the despair and the pain, mellowed over time, but never extinguished. He was happy with her and with the kids, she was sure of it. He loved – albeit in an odd way – his job. However, at certain moments, like today, it seemed to her that he still felt lonely. As lonely as he felt as a child, locked in the closet under the stairs. As lonely as he was on the night when he was found at Godric's Hollow, in the ruins of his home, next to the body of his mother who save his life by sacrificing hers. Sometimes Ginny heard distinctly – however impossible that was – the cries of that little black-haired boy in the ruins, cries that tore at her heart. And she guessed that those cries were still there in his soul, joined by Sirius' scream as he fell through the arc, and the silent yet no less heartwrenching scream over the murdered Dumbledore.

Standing under the steaming hot shower jets, Ginny prayed silently to the invisible forces that led her beloved through his life. She prayed that Harry's heart would never again scream at the deaths of his loved ones.

With this thought swirling inside her head, she walked into the bedroom, lit only by the fire in the fireplace, and saw Harry standing in the moonlight. Her heart tightening painfully, she dashed across the room and clung to him.

"What's wrong?" he gently separated her desperately clutched hands and turned. The look in his eyes was soft and tender as he looked into her face. "Everything is all right."

She nodded – mostly to acknowledge her momentary weakness. He smiled, kissed the tip of her freckled nose, and pulled her toward the bed. He pressed her body against him under the covers, rested his chin on top of her head, and closed his eyes; just as he had done many times over their years together. And Ginny always felt calmer when he did that. Always, but not today. Because today, for the first time, he brought home blood.


	13. Part I - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

_**Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.**_

There is no better thing in life than to while away a Sunday.

"Why while away?"

Scorpius raised his head and turned slightly in order to focus on the face of James Potter who was lying next to him in the grass.

"Did I say it aloud?"

James nodded, which came out quite funny, since the Gryffindor was lying on his stomach, resting his head on his folded arms. His eyes were closed and his entire demeanor conveyed that there was indeed no better thing in life than to lie around the Quidditch pitch, and let the sun gently warm your back through the uniform shirt.

"Potter, are you capable of coherent speech? Or does the facial expression 'a-la-sloshed-Trelawney-who-managed-to-get-on-Jupi ter-wavelength' reflect you true developmental level?" Malfoy also flipped onto his stomach, settling comfortably on his robes. He turned his head so as to be able to observe his friend.

James mumbled something non-discernible in response, too lazy even to open his eyes.

"Hey, Potter, look, who is that over there?"

James looked up, but, of course, failed to see anyone.

The pitch and the stands were empty – the Quidditch training sessions had not started yet, and no one beside them thought of coming to the stadium on a Sunday afternoon.

They spread their robes on the grass and lounged for the past hour in the rays of September sun, hardly speaking. The Potions textbook for seniors lay on the ground a small distance away, no evidence of its ever having been opened, and a couple of rolls of parchments were blown ever farther away by the gentle breeze.

"What a dumb joke, Malfoy, I am even ashamed of you", James chuckled, putting his head back down, but keeping his eyes open.

"Well, at least you feel shame. I don't have time even for that." Scorpius tore a few blades of grass out of the ground and was now grinding them between his fingers. "Look, I shall start avoiding you soon – you've now got a conscience and you can feel ashamed, as it turns out. Summers are bad for you, after all."

"Malfoy, do you ever shut up?" James got tired of lying down – he sat up and leaned back on his elbows, his brown eyes staring into the blue sky. "I think that Flitwick would have appreciated your gift had you been as expressive and glib in your responses in his classroom."

"I must have eaten too much," the Slytherin said in an attempt at reconciliation and also sat up. Unlike James, he was not wearing his tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned. Silence fell again for a time, to be broken by Malfoy:

"Gregory has fallen for your sister."

"What?" James jumped and almost sprained his wrist as he jerked toward his friend. He looked at Malfoy severely, rubbing it. "What the hell?"

"I just wanted to warn you," Scorpius shrugged, squinting lazily.

"Who is he anyway, this Gregory of yours?"

"A Sixth Year."

"Malfoy, there are plenty of gits in the sixth year!"

"I didn't know that only gits fell for your sister," Malfoy chuckled and was promptly punched in the shoulder. "And what makes you think that he is a git?" Malfoy pulled his knees to his chest, brushing grass off his slacks. "He is in Slytherin, not Hufflepuff."

James wanted to continue the repartee, but at this moment a small figure showed up at the edge of the pitch and dashed for the two of them.

"Who is that butterball?" Malfoy shielded his eyes with his hand to look at the unexpected visitor. The figure approached and became a girl with braids that slapped her back as she ran. "Hey, Potter, this is for you."

James also realized that Amanda Dursley was running toward them, squeezing something in her wet palm. The chaps watched her run.

"Hey, didn't you know that it is forbidden to walk across the Quidditch pitch?" Malfoy asked sternly when the girl halted in front of them. "Fifty points off the Hufflepuff House."

The smile that shined on Amanda's face a minute before vanished and she began looking around her, terrified, as if seeking a means to fly away. It wasn't clear what scared her more – that she broke a school rule or that her mistake cost her House so many points. She might have burst into tears, had not James finally come to her rescue:

"He is just joking, Amanda," the Gryffindor shot Malfoy a look, warning him against taking this any further. The other simply shrugged and returned to cleaning grass off his slacks. "Did you want something?"

The first year hesitated – she must have still been in shock over Malfoy's prank.

"What is this?" James pointed at a black rectangular object in Amanda's hand. The girl seemed to recall the reason for her coming there in the first place, and smiled bashfully:

"Do you have a telephone battery charger?"

Malfoy even broke off his important task, fixing his silvery stare on the girl before him. She was so small that the sitting chaps' eyes were level with hers. Amanda once again became alarmed that she did something wrong and rushed to explain, holding out her hand with the black box to them:

"I couldn't find a single outlet. And the phone died. It's not working. And I promised Mummy to call her on Sunday. And the phone shut off," she was fidgeting a little in her nervousness and eagerness to explain. However, James and Malfoy's faces betrayed no understanding. Both seniors stared blankly at the box in Amanda's hand – a black panel with a display and buttons with numbers and letters printed on them.

"What is this?" Malfoy finally forced out, looking at the strange object.

"A cell phone," Amanda responded perplexed, stepping back. "Well, you know – a phone. Don't you know?"

At this moment Malfoy finally understood what the Hufflepuff girl had been saying about the outlet and batteries and non-working phone, and he fell onto his back, roaring with laughter. The startled Amanda looked at James and his laughing friend.

James, holding back a smile, took the box out of the first year's hand. He had never seen such a small telephone.

"Amanda, hasn't Lily explained to you that…"

"She is in the library, studying. I didn't want to disturb her because she might get mad at me for not letting her do her homework," Amanda explained hastily, trying to talk over over Malfoy's laughter. "And so I went looking for you. I promised Mummy…"

James gave the girl back her phone and patted her shoulder sympathetically:

"Well, you will have to break your promise. No Muggle, well, non-magical, device works at Hogwarts. There is too much magic here."

"I didn't know," Amanda said dispiritedly, clutching the phone. Apparently, she didn't like being laughed at. She turned around and ran off.

"Malfoy, you are impossible," James jabbed his friend painfully in the ribs. "Stop heehawing!"

Scorpius stood up with difficulty:

"Where did this Muggle wonder go?" He did not immediately notice the girl running away. "What's wrong with her?"

"Use your brains if they haven't yet fallen out of your ears from all the shaking," James frowned.

"Where is she running to so fast?"

"The library, I suppose," James sighed, looking at Malfoy with some annoyance. "Now I will probably catch hell from Lily, thanks to you."

"Who was this girl? I thought we had only one Potter in a skirt."

This is my father's first cousin once removed, the daughter of his Muggle cousin," James replied reluctantly.

Malfoy did not say anything, recognizing his friend's mood. They lay back down on the grass, arms akimbo. The silence did not last long though.

"How can Lily waste her Sundays in the library?" James asked rhetorically. "Only she and Rose would rather read than do anything else."

"Xenia also went to the library after lunch," Malfoy uttered philosophically.

Silence fell again. Then both friends got up, in an unspoken agreement, picked up their belongings, and walked toward the castle. As they walked, they put on their robes, winked at each other, and headed for the library.

In her surprise, Madam Pince almost dropped the panicle that she used for dusting books and parchment rolls. Malfoy and Potter could understand her very well – it was unusual for them to be in the library even on a weekday, let alone during the weekend. Besides, still fresh in the memory of the chaps and Pince herself were the two weeks of detention when they had to help her as punishment for tearing pages out of a textbook right there, in the sanctuary of pages and letters.

The Seventh Years felt the librarian's suspicious gaze bore into their backs as they walked between the tables and shelves, but this did not stop them.

"Let's sit over here," Malfoy whispered, pointing at a small table in the corner. From there they had a good view of a long table by the back wall where Lily and Rose were sitting with their backs to the two friends. Across from the girls, pretending to be studying, sat three blokes.

"Who is that?" James whispered, leaning toward Malfoy, without taking his eyes off the other table. Of course, he recognized the two friends of Rose's – Shitsko Chang and Michael Williams. They were his cousin's classmates. Michael was also the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and an all around a decent chap, in James' opinion.

Chang was also a Gryffindor, but seemed a little rotten to Potter – either because of the narrow eyes or the stupid name. The third bloke, however – clearly, a Slytherin – looked unfamiliar to James and he had trouble understanding what this stranger was doing in the company of Rose and Lily. The deal with Chang and Williams was clear: they were Rose' friends and permanent companions. Like her mother, she always preferred the company of boys – since her first year at Hogwarts – and James did not doubt that she would soon get hitched with one of the two friends (James hoped fervently that she would become Rose Williams, not Rose Chang). However, as far as he knew, Lily was not part of any stable group, aside from Hugo and Cousin Charlotte (she went by Shelly at home), Uncle Bill's middle daughter.

"That is Gregory," Malfoy responded, clearly enjoying himself at the sight of James' long face. "He doesn't waste any time, does he?"

"How did he get in with them?" James hissed, squeezing the quill so tightly in his hand that it cracked.

"He is Chang's cousin on his mother's side," said Malfoy in a "know-it-all" tone of voice, his face buried in the first book he grabbed from the shelf on his right. The Slytherin was not going to stare at Greg Gregory who he knew well enough at it was. Their families were on friendly terms and moved in the same circles. "He is actually ok, except that I think he is a virgin and has a very vague notion of how to use his…"

"Malfoy!" James growled, trying not to be too conspicuous, "Either you shut the hell up or I will curse you."

Scorpius shrugged:

"I thought that your sister's flirting roster would be of interest to you, but suit yourself."

James was practically breathing fire as he watched Lily laugh quietly at something this damned Slytherin was telling her, leaning toward her across the table. Plus, his sister was constantly shaking out her long flowing hair and adjusting her robes.

"Listen, stop staring at that table, you are not going to get lucky there," Malfoy grinned, turning a page disinterestedly. "Better turn further to your left."

James, still frowning, followed his friend's advice and saw Xenia Verdi, sitting, straight-backed, at the end table. She was running her quill over the parchment in a slightly affected manner, occasionally glancing at the book in front of her. He golden hair fell over her shoulder and face, but she did not attempt to brush it aside.

"I believe we have been spotted," Malfoy said, and James groaned – Lily and Rose had turned toward them. As the Gryffindor expected, his sister stood up at once, said something briefly to Gregory over her shoulder, and headed toward them with a roll of parchment in her hand.

"What now?" James bristled, crossing his arms. Malfoy contemplated the girl standing before them with playful indifference, which would have enraged Lily, had she not been pointedly ignoring the Slytherin.

"A letter arrived from parents," she held out the roll to her brother, and her eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Listen, just give me a synopsis, I am busy. _Studying_," James pointed at the unopened books in front of him. "What does the owl post have to say?"

"Albus beat Uncle Ron at chess. Parents went to dinner at Grandpa Arthur's and he sends his best. Muriel has lost the third tooth…"

Malfoy completely tuned out this family coddling. He didn't understand at all the need to write letters for the purpose of informing someone of a lost tooth. Scorpius received a letter from his parent every two weeks and they usually did not contain such rubbish. Imagine – the third tooth has fallen out. He could just see the Weasleys throwing a party on such an important occasion, with everybody dancing around the tooth placed on the table in the middle of the room.

Malfoy smiled at his thoughts, while turning the next page in the book which he pretended to be reading.

"There is nothing funny!" Lily snarled so loudly that the book jerked in his hands and fell to the floor.

"Ms. Potter!" Madam Pince instantly appeared before them, nostrils flaring. "What are you doing? Pick up that book at once! And stop shouting."

Lily blushed scarlet, much to Malfoy's satisfaction. A prefect reprimanded in the library. This occasion alone was worth coming here.

"And, Malfoy, I am warning you – if you upset Amanda one more time…"

"Pardon, whom?" the Slytherin asked, with a lazy smile on his face.

"You've been warned!" Lily hissed, turned on her heels, and walked to her table, closely watched by those sitting at it.

"I didn't quite understand what that was," Scorpius turned toward James. The Gryffindor choled back a laugh. "I caught hell because of you, and you dare act all amused?"

"Hello, fellows," Xenia materialized next to their table, pressing a book and a filled-out scroll of parchment to her chest. She was looking at the two friends with slightly raised eyebrows. "Did you come to write a Potion paper?"

Malfoy nodded absently, still looking witheringly at the red-haired Gryffindor's back, while James could only stare helplessly at the beautiful Slytherin girl before him, as though at a vision.

"I wonder, does this book have something on the Forgetfulness Potion?" Xenia pointed at the book in James' hands. She seemed to be on the verge of laughing. Malfoy and Potter both looked at the cover where the gilded letters spelled "How to charm a witch. A guide for inexperienced conquerors of women's hearts." James pushed the book away as if it were hot coals, and his ears became scarlet.

Xenia grinned. Malfoy, without a trace of embarrassment, held out his hand, and, to James' surprise, the girl handed him her paper at once.

"If you copy it word for word, I will not only conjure ribbons for you hair, but pink tutus as well. Right in the Great Hall during breakfast," Xenia warned them sweetly and headed for the exit. James watched her leave, flabbergasted. Before walking out, Xenia looked around and smiled at the Gryffindor.

"Don't worry, you don't have a ribbon," Malfoy said, seeing that his friend thrust his hand into his tousled hair. "And if you fall into a stupor every time she shows up, she will go to the Christmas Ball with someone else."

"Meaning?" James was still getting over the smile that Xenia gave him.

"Literally, my slow friend. And if you still don't get it – here, read this, it's just the thing for you," Malfoy handed James "The Guide",sporting the sly smirk which always came perfectly and effortlessly to him. "Study this, I'll be right back."

The Gryffindor merely nodded, staring at the book in his hands, while Malfoy, his hands in his pockets, strolled over to the table where the Rose Weasley's group sat.

Greg Gregory fell silent at once, staring at Malfoy, and so did the others. Lily and Rose looked up at the Slytherin.

"Hello, Malfoy," Rose smiled, shutting closed the tome she was reading. "What are you doing here?"

"A strange question. What does one usually do in the library?" Malfoy raised one blond eye brow, looking into the brown eyes of the Head Girl. He saw Williams pricking his ears – the guy sure found the right girl to fall for – and Gregory straighten his shoulders.

"Well, usually," Rise stressed the last word, "people do their homework and read. However, I wasn't aware that you could read, and your marks for the first two days of classes defy the concept of "doing homework".

"And how do you know my marks?" Malfoy asked interestedly. He caught the look that Rose quickly shot Lily, and became even more interested. So much so that he turned on his heels and stared frankly at James' sister:

"Potter, are you interested in my marks? Have you decided that your own students were not enough and decided to aide the Slytherin prefects as well?"

"No!" Lily blushed, standing up. She appeared to be uncomfortable not being eye level with Malfoy, although even at full height she had to raise her head slightly to meet his ironic silvery gaze.

"Then why the curiosity?" Scorpius saw her scramble to come up with an acceptable answer, when Weasley came to her aide.

"I asked her. The prefects' council needed the transcripts."

"Mine?" Malfoy clarified, not believing a word. Teaching children how to lie convincingly was not a priority in the Weasley clan, not to mention the Potters, whose honesty was downright nauseating. "I appreciate you concern, although, as far as I know, the prefects council does not meet for another week."

"Oh, we are preparing in advance to scold you," Rose said innocently, turning away. "Now leave us alone. If you and James don't care about studying, don't think that no one else does."

Scorpius smirked, looking at Weasley's back. Then he noticed that it took Potter a couple of moments to react and also turn to her books. The three chaps were still looking at the Slytherin.

"Listen, Greg, I give you my solemn oath to deliver you personally to St. Mungo's if you go mental from hanging around this group and imagine yourself a textbook," Malfoy said sarcastically and went back to James, who was pouring over the book that Scorpius had given him.

"A green-clad bafoon," someone said behind his back, but Malfoy only smiled broadly, realizing that Sunday was not wasted after all.


	14. Part I - Chapter 6 - Hermione Weasley

_**Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley.**_

Hermione wrote down the last word in her report, put a period, signed it, and slowly set aside her quill, trying not to stain the paper. She hadn't noticed it getting dark. Perhaps it was a mix-up on the part of the department responsible for the weather display in the underground windows, although it was more likely that she simply lost track of time.

Hermione propped her elbows on the desk and rubbed her face, trying to chase away the drowsiness and fatigue. She still needed enough energy to make it home where Ron was waiting for her. And she also wanted to find Harry, if he was still at work. She knew that during the last few days he wouldn't leave work before eleven o'clock at night in order to keep pace with the paperwork and all the status reports for his management.

She put her paper in the drawer with other documents, put the locking spells on it, and left her small office.

Most of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement employees were still there – the wave of attacks on Muggle children overwhelmed them. The entire Ministry was under the gun; the Minister continuously demanded results, but so far they weren't able to do anything substantial.

Hermione walked toward the elevators, hoping to make it to the Auror's floor as quickly as possible. On her way down the still crowded hallways, she nodded absentmindedly at her co-workers and saw in their faces the reflection of her own fatigue and a kind of despair. It was as if a little personal Dementor hovered over each person's shoulder, sucking out joy and hope. Even those who were not involved in the cases of the escaped criminals and the Muggle murders – not everyone knew that it was really one and the same case but many had guessed so – felt the aura of helplessness that had engulfed several departments.

Hermione entered the elevator, fingering her necklace pensively. She was always good at piecing together the big picture out of seemingly unrelated facts – one example was the Chamber of Secrets with its resident monster – and, therefore, understood much of what was happening now, even not having all the information.

The case of the werewolves. Top secret clearance. She couldn't look it up in the archives. Five years ago, when the ministry celebrated the successful wrap-up of the operation of "disarming the group of aggressive wizards-werewolves", Hermione was just an average employee of the department. No one knew the details of the operation except for those who developed it and carried it out; and those people did not say much.

The court hearing for the captives – there definitely were several of them – was a closed one and those who were present not only didn't want to, but also weren't allowed to speak about it. Whatever happened there, Hermione could only guess.

The rumor about a special Azkaban section appeared much later and Hermione never thought about who was held in it. And then – the escape. From that section. And almost immediately following – the deaths of Muggle children. And the emergency summons to work. And the main clue – Harry. The expression on Harry Potter's face was more telling than words, facts, and logical conclusions. At least it was so for the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"You don't look so good, honey."

Hermione flinched and only then realized that she had already left the elevator, walked down the hallway, and was standing in front of the door with a sign "Aurors Headquarters". And that old before her occupied the office adjacent to hers. Hermione couldn't remember his name and so she simply shrugged non-commitally and pushed the door open.

Everything here was different from the other Ministry departments. A different atmosphere. Hermione always thought that in here, on the razor's edge between life and death, good and evil, crime and repentance, everything – both joy and sorrow – were felt sharper, brighter. It was as if those who worked here tried to breathe their deepest, live their fullest, because they never knew when their lives would come to an end.

Hermione stood in the beginning of a long aisle between the aurors' cubicles. It was loud here; notes were constantly flying over the cubicle walls.

"Hey, Hermione, what brings you here?" an Auror she knew headed toward her with a wide smile on her tired face.

"Is Harry here?" she asked instead of answering, not even capable of summoning and answering smile.

"Yeah, I don't believe he has left yet. He and his team had three calls today; he must be taking a break somewhere. Feel free to look around," the Auror waved her hand vaguely toward the back of the room and walked out.

There were still a lot of people here. Hermione was constantly hailed by people she knew, but she swept past them on her way to Harry Potter's office. She finally pushed open a grim-looking door and was enveloped by the silence of a space as small as her own.

She knew this room down to the last scratch on the floor. One wall was plastered with photographs of the wanted criminals, status charts and tables. This wall was in the shadow. The shelf above the messy desk (although Harry had no problem finding stuff on it) held the Dark Arts books. Among them – the practicing kit that Lupin and Sirius gave Harry for Christmas many years ago. On a table in the far corner were various objects, both proven and suspected to be holding dark magic. On top of the closet where – as Hermione knew – Harry kept work clothes and a change of robes was a box with Weasley Wheezes defense objects. Next to it was the broomstick. And in the darkest corner stood a chair, its cushions worn down by hundreds of people sitting in it.

There was not a single picture of Potter or Weasley family members, no personal pictures at all. And Hermione had a good idea why.

When her eyes adjusted to the gloom – the room only had one small window and it currently showed the night sky – the woman was able to see the office's sole inhabitant. He sat in the chair, arms wrapped around the dark-haired head, his face hidden, elbows rested on his knees. He wasn't moving, and his breathing came noiselessly. Hermione hoped that Harry wouldn't catch aa chill – he was only wearing a light-weight shirt and the room was freezing cold.

It was not from cold that Hermione shivered, however, but from her friend's pose. She knew this pose and these stooped shoulders, and the noiseless breathing.

The woman quietly got to her knees in front of Harry and lightly touched his cold arm with her fingers. He started and looked up. His eyes faintly shone in the semi-darkness. He wasn't wearing glasses.

She knew – she remembered – this expression on his face. She could recognize it even in the dark. This was the grimace which he wore upon his return from that raid five years ago. He didn't say anything then; he didn't complain. He simply sat like this, all night long, staring off into space.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, taking his hand in hers and and rubbing it between her warm palms. "Have you gone insane? You will get sick."

"I do not have a fireplace here," he answered simply, still frozen and not making an attempt to move. "You know that."

"Harry, are you a wizard or what?" she smiled weakly at her own question. They liked to tease each other like that since their first year at Hogwarts when Hermione panicked and didn't know where to get file to release Ron from the Devil's Snare.

Harry didn't smile; he did not react at all. Hermione felt that he was at the very end of his physical and emotional strength.

"I could not conjure a fire," he said thickly, confirming his friend's suspicion. "Like back then, during the battle at Hogwarts: I could not conjure a Patronus."

"You are just tired," Hermione drew forward, letting go of his hand – it dropped limply in his lap – and stroked his hair, looking into his eyes. They were right next to hers and seemed almost black now. "Do you remember what Luna said then?"

"'We are still here and the battle continues'," Harry mumbled, but his voice became a little more animated. Hermione rejoiced even at this sign of progress; she then reached over his shoulder to feel for the wand in his back pocket. For a moment, she smelled his scent – musk, au de cologne, and a little male sweat. Then she pulled away.

"The battle continues, Harry," she said tenderly, inserting his wand into his cold palm. "They will not win unless we allow them to win."

Harry finally gripped the wand that was his faithful companion during the battle with the greatest of dark wizards – and, perhaps, feeling the warmth from the contact, heartened up a little. He waved the wand. Blue fire that Hermione invented during her first year at Hogwarts sprang to life in a little bowl on his desk. Another bowl, a little smaller than the first, lit up in the corner, then another one, and another, until the room was filled with a blue glow. Hermione instantly felt the warmth coming from the flames.

"Don't sit on the floor," Harry said, reaching out to her, and Hermione sat in his lap, hugging him tightly. How many contradictions were in this man – so strong, and yet so fragile; so firm, yet so easily hurt; capable of loving, but also of so fiercely; capable of succeeding at most difficult missions, yet so easily discouraged by failures.

A boy with green eyes, who was not afraid to pursue the Philosopher's stone, while facing a much stronger adversary; a friend, who would not leave a little girl to die in the terrible Chamber of Secrets, raising his sword instead against a eons-old monster; a godson, who was ready to do anything to save the only family member who loved him; a boy, who did not break down after his friend was killed before his very eyes, not even when he stood face to face with his enemy without his trusted godfather and his wise mentor; a youth who defeated death itself.

They sat in the dark and she felt him getting warmer. Hermione stroked his hair and his back so that the terrible tension would leave his body. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the headrest; his face looked a calmer; the sharp lines and wrinkles smoothed out; the convulsively contracted muscles relaxed. He breathed more evenly now and his hands relaxed on her back.

"You have to go home and get some rest," Hermione whispered to her friend, but he only shook his head. "Why not?"

"I won't be able to pretend, not today," he said and opened his eyes. Despair and fear look out of them at Hermione, scaring her.

"But Ginny is worried."

"I sent her an owl," he said in the same flat tone. "I wrote that I had a night call."

"Harry," Hermione said with a light reproach, looking him in the eye, "Why do you lie to her? She doesn't deserve it."

"I told you – I do not have the strength to pretend. I need a little time."

"Why pretend?" Hermione was worried now. She drew back, still sitting in her lap. "What is going on, Harry?"

"A lot is going on, Hermione," he said vaguely, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

"You are scaring me."

"I am sorry, I didn't want to," a shadow of a smile touched his lips. "I just don't want Ginny to see me… like this. I don't want her to worry. It won't change anything anyway."

"She has a right to know, Harry. She loves you! And if you think that she does not feel that something is going on, then you are mistaken. And you are making it doubly hard by hiding the truth from her." Hermione looked him straight in the eye, not letting him look away. "Harry, she loves you. She will understand."

"No," said Harry categorically. "I will not have her carry an even heavier burden."

"Listen to yourself, Harry! You are speaking – and acting, too – like Dumbledore! You are hiding the truth from us and meting out the information when you think it is the right time! Remember where such behaviour ended Dumbledore, Harry!"

"I remember, I always do," he looked away, pursed his lips, and frowned.

"Forgive me," Hermione said quietly as she realized that she reminded her friend not only of the Headmaster's mistakes, but also of his own, that led to the death of the last person close to his family. "I just don't want you to end up the same way… You are different, Harry. You are better."

He did not reply, either not wanting to argue, or not having the strength to.

"Go home, please," Hermione pleaded, stroking his cheek again. "Ginny will understand everything; she won't ask if you don't want to tell her. Just let her be close to you. For the one who loves, even that is a lot."

Harry gazed into the brown eyes that reflected the dancing blue flames, and then dropped his head warily onto Hermione's chest, hugging her close. Only then he whispered:

"Ok."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his hands against her back – they were warm now. She knew that she had to make him get up and go home, right this minute. She knew that Ginny wasn't sleeping, even having received an owl post. She knew that it wasn't she who should be in Harry's arms right now. But she decided to give him – and herself – a couple more minutes. And then they would go home.


	15. Part I - Chapter 7 - Teddy Remus Lupin

_**Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin.**_

Lupin liked this bar at the Diagon Alley. It was never crowded and the hostess Eloise – a lady of about thirty – always had a pleasant smile for the regulars. Ted stopped by here every work day to grab some lunch, and often lingered afterwards, forgetting that the new issue of a provincial newspaper or the Ministry brochure on "Telling between a ghost and a poltergeist" eagerly awaited him at the printshop.

It wasn't that he didn't like his job, but sometimes he wanted to throw something at the head of the person who wrote all that stuff. For instance, something like what his godfather's cousin threw at him when Teddy delivered his daughter to him.

The young man found a vacant table in the corner and, having ordered a full lunch and a cup of mint tea, started looking over the room. Many of the patrons were regulars and did not incite any curiosity. But there were those two young witches whispering and smiling in the corner - must be discussing a date that one of them had. Lupin could often tell what thoughts a woman was preoccupied with just by looking at her face. It just happened this way. That was probably why he was considered the most intriguing senior boy in school. He never cared about that distinction, because, in his heart of hearts he was a lone wolf and did not like to be the center of attention.

Lupin caught a smile of the witch at the bar and nodded in response, trying to remember who she was. So many people came to his printshop that their faces and names got mixed up in his head. This witch must have had a tough morning, probably reprimanded at her job.

Teddy thanked the waitress who put a plate, a bread basket, and a tea cup in front of him, but did not start eating right away, instead glancing at his watch. The witch at the bar got up and headed for the exit, and Lupin thought that there were only two women in his life whose thoughts and mood he could never tell by looking at their faces.

One of them was the one who owned his heart. Marie-Victoire Weasley, his fiancée. Unfathomable, unpredictable, passionate, proud. She did not pay any heed to Lupin back in school, while he was interested in her even then. And yet, they were together now. Lupin grinned at his thoughts – the term "lone wolf" fit him less and less in the recent years, because Marie was always near.

The other unreadable woman was Hermione Weasley, his godfather's friend. As much as Teddy tried to understand her or read anything in her face, he encountered the same problem – he could not understand, could not fathom.

"Hello," Harry Potter appeared at his table, dressed in dark-blue robes with the Ministry logo. He shook his godson's hand and sat down him.

"You look better," Teddy remarked looking at Harry's calm face. The dark circles around his eyes were barely visible, he looked rested and well-slept. Not like three days ago, on Tuesday, when Lupin came to the Potters' house for dinner.

"Yes, it has calmed down a bit," Harry nodded; he looked around for the waitress and ordering coffee. "I didn't even go to work today; they let me have a day off."

"It serves you well, I think," Lupin started on his salad, looking up at his godfather from time to time. "Ginny was very worried about you."

Harry smiled, accepting his coffee the girl handed him with reverence. She stood still for a few moments, gazing at the black-haired man, then smiled bashfully, and walked away, glancing back occasionally.

"I don't know how you handle it," Teddy muttered sheepishly, watching the girl. "I thought that she would melt into a puddle or faint at your feet."

Harry chuckled lightly, fobbing off Teddy's concern for the waitress:

"Oh, that's nothing. At one time, people used to ask for my autograph, wanted to take a picture with me, and ran down the street screaming 'Harry Potter! That is Harry Potter!' Some tried to tear hairs out of my head as keepsakes, some pulled gloves and scarves off me right there in the street. So, let them stare, it doesn't bother me, and it is pleasant for them, I suppose."

"I see that your mood has improved as well," Lupin reached for another slice of bread. They were silent for a time. Then Ted, having finished his salad, wiped his hands on a napkin, and leaned forward, growing instantly serious. "I have thought about what you told me…"

Harry looked over his shoulder, took out his wand and used the old spell from Severus Snape's textbook, _Muffliato_. Lupin nodded in understanding, but still kept his voice low:

"Harry, if what you told me, well, that they can transform independently of the lunar cycle, is true then," Lupin respired, and continued even quieter," it appears that these werewolves have become a sort of animagi, haven't they? They assume their animal form at will, consciously. This means that they can control their actions after the transformation…"

Harry shook his head, setting aside his tea cup and looking at his godson just as gravely:

"No, they cannot control themselves after the transformation. And yes, they can assume their animal form at will. But that is the only similarity."

"But, Harry, they were only attacking Muggles, this cannot be a coincidence!"

"It is not."

Lupin looked into his godfather's green eyes, confused:

"Explain then."

"All right. Yes, it is true that, as the result of one of Voldemort's hellish experiments, these werewolves are no longer dependent on the lunar cycle for their transformation. This is a fact. They transform when their desire – desire to drink blood. As soon as they do, however, they lose all control. This is also a fact," Harry's gesture stopped Lupin from speaking up. "They attack Muggles because, as the Ministry folks have determined, one of the experiments' objectives was the ability to dynamically create a particular mindset. In other words, remote control."

"Control?" Lupin could not contain a shudder. "So, as the result of the experiments…"

"Yes, these werewolves are tuned, so to speak, on to Muggles. That is Voldemort in a nutshell for you," Harry smiled bitterly. "These creatures were programmed to destroy Muggles. I think that in the future they would have been switched to half-bloods."

"But why did they only attack children?"

"They are still only attacking children," Harry remarked, and his calm face looked blank for a moment. "Keep in mind, however, this is classified information."

"Aha. So these werewolves can also tell a victim's age? Then why children in particular?"

"They don't distinguish age. They distinguish strength. These… creatures subconsciously look for a weaker victim. The law of survival. And since…"

"And since they were children themselves when this all started, their victims were just as young," Lupin finished the sentence, having grasped the concept. "And now..?"

Harry merely nodded:

"They are still weak after Azakaban; therefore, their victims are not older than fifteen, and then, mainly, children who are thin or small for their age. I think that if such werewolves reach maturity, they will be able to attack adult wizards."

Silence fell over the table. No one around noticed it – Snape's charm worked unfailingly. Lupin drank his tea, deep in thought.

"How can the werewolves be re-programmed?" the young man asked finally, looking at his godfather over his tea cup. It was obvious that his own words sounded absurd to Lupin.

These were werewolves, after all – sentient beings who suffered all their lives, unable to change their destiny, always afraid to harm anyone; people for whom Lupin always felt compassion and pity. And yet, here the two of them were, talking about experiments and some horrible creatures carrying out the mental program, set in motion by a man who had been dead for more than twenty years. "Or is it impossible at this point?"

"Unfortunately, it is possible," Harry folded his arms and looked out the window. His wand lay on the table. "The Imperius Curse."

"What?!" Lupin vehemently shook his blond head. "Imperius does not work on them! It's written in all the books! Proven a hundred times over!"

"Teddy, you and I are not talking about the usual werewolves. Don't you understand? They are horrible creatures of a horrible man, a product of his sick imagination!" Harry retorted nervously, looking at his agitated godson. "Yes, you are correct – the Imperius Curse does not work on werewolves. Not even on these werewolves. Not the same way as it works on people. However, if used properly, the Imperius Curse directed at these creatures allows creating a different mindset in them for about twenty four hours, but no longer than that. As far as I know, attacking Muggle children is part of the original program of these… With the help of the Imperius Curse, however, a wizard can show them a different target – only men, only women, only Muggles, only half-bloods, only wizards. Or even direct them at a particular person."

Lupin felt like a hurricane had blasted through his head, re-shuffling all the thoughts and knowledge that had resided there before.

"No, Harry, this is… inconceivable. It appears then that Voldemort created a band of easily re-targeted assassins, up for grabs to anyone who knows how to use them!"

Harry nodded grimly:

"Yes, that is correct. Why else, do you think, there would be such a panic?"

Lupin closed his eyes, still refusing to believe.

"How is it that you know so much about them? I don't think that Voldemort would have left you detailed notes."

Harry picked up his wand and started twirling it in his fingers, watching it with narrowed eyes. It was obvious that Lupin's godfather did not want to answer that question.

"The Ministry experimented as well, didn't they?" Lupin's voice broke a little as he looking closely at Harry Potter. The other nodded. "Did you?"

Harry shook his head, but didn't return Lupin's gaze:

"Remember when I told you about the first of them? While the plan for disarming all of them was in development, the boy was kept in the Department of Mysteries. People with specially training explored his abilities and skills," Harry's hand jerked and his wand fell to the floor, emitting a fountain of sparks. Teddy's godfather leaned over to pick it up, trying to control his face. He then straightened and re-applied the Muffliato charm.

Lupin silently stared down at his hands. He could imagine what the Ministry wizards did to determined all those "abilities". And the boy was only fifteen. It wasn't like he had consciously chosen his destiny. He hardly wanted to become Voldemort's pawn, a fruit of his monstrous experiments.

"Harry, you said that the boy whose mother was killed… He transformed back when she died. Why?" Lupin leaned forward to better see his godfather's face.

"I don't know exactly. I think it was love," Harry smiled sadly, while the young man opposite him looked perplexed. "One great man claimed that such strong feeling as love cannot co-exist with the dark magic. Love evicts such an unnatural force out of a person."

"But a werewolf cannot feel love, he doesn't recognize anyone!"

Harry looked at Teddy warmly:

"Love of a mother shielding her child from death, Teddy. This is ancient magic, powerful magic. When this protection – the protection of a mother's blood – entered the werewolf's blood, it forced the dark magic out of the boy. I think that if it happened at full moon, nothing would have happened. He would have stayed a wolf."

Lupin nodded, knowing that Harry of all people would know everything there was to know about a mother's protection and love. They fell silent again. Teddy knew that he had to go back to work, but there was something else to say – which was essentially the reason he summoned Harry down here.

"Listen, you said that it became quieter," Lupin said, distracting his godfather from his, no doubt, non-too-merry thoughts. "You haven't caught them though, have you?"

"No. They simply vanished. Lying low, I reckon," Harry shrugged his shoulders, although his eyes betrayed his unease with that thought. "Three days – and nothing."

"You think they got their fill?"

"I don't know, Teddy. I just don't know. For more than a week there were one-two victims per day. It all seems suspicious, somehow, because now we cannot even trace their movements. I am still not sorry it's quiet now, however. I just can't stand it all anymore…"

Lupin nodded in understanding and began rummaging in his robe pockets for a newspaper sheet to show to his godfather when the other spoke suddenly:

"One child survived."

"What?" Lupin's head jerked up.

"The werewolf was scared off by Muggles in a helicopter. They were fed the same story about a pack of rabid wolves – not that far from the truth. And so now they are chasing this "pack" all over the country. Anyway, the helicopter showed up in that area and our patrols were there as well to guard the hunters. As the guys told me, they heard a werewolf's howl. The patrol began the search. And they found the boy. They called for re-enforcements.

"So, he is alive?" There was something in his godfather's voice that Lupin did not like.

"Alive, yes," Harry said bitterly. "I took him to St. Mungo's at once. Thus, we are now in possession of another specimen."

"Is he a werewolf?" Lupin asked in horror, drawing back, as if trying to get distance himself from it.

"Judging by the fact that the boy is kept in a separate closed-off room, yes. It is not really classified information," Harry smiled, and tried to finish his coffee in one gulp. He made a face – the coffee was now completely cold. Then he looked at his watch: "Isn't it time you went back at work?"

"Oh, yeah, and I haven't told you about something yet," Lupin once again reached in his pocket and produced a folded newspaper sheet. "Well, this is an issue of a pithy provincial newspaper. Mostly garbage, but I have to read it as part of my routine. Here," Teddy unfolded the sheet, "is the news highlights section. It says that a healer who lived in a wizarding village has disappeared. A very old healer, a former specialist from St. Mungo's."

Harry took the newspaper and started reading the article Teddy pointed out, knowing that Lupin had a reason to show it to him.

"Also, three days ago, there was information in another newspaper about someone robbing a small wizarding pharmacy."

Harry looked up at his godson:

"And?"

"Well, I stopped by that pharmacy yesterday. And I got a list of everything that was stolen. Those ingredients can be used to make a few strong poisons and some not so innocent potions. Among them are Draught of Living Death, Polyjuice, and Wolfsbane potions," Lupin fell silent, looking at his godfather.

"Wow," Harry managed to say, straight up in his chair and folding the newspaper sheet. "Teddy, has it ever occurred to you that working in a printshop may not be your true calling?"

"Do you think I am right?"

"In the light of the latest events, this looks very suspicious. I'll take the newspaper with me, shall I? I also will need the address of that pharmacy." Harry put the newspaper in his robe pocket and took out the money. "Thank you. I need to go to the Ministry."

They paid their bill and walked out of the bar onto the crowded street. Other wizards were returning from their lunch break and witches were rushing into the now re-opening shops.

Harry and Teddy made their way through the crowd, trying to find a quieter place to Disapparate. After squeezing their way through the narrow alley, where they were being constantly pushed and shoved, they made it into a wider street, feeling a little mangled.

"Harry!" Lupin turned toward his godfather and pointed at his hand. Harry looked down and saw that he had a cut there. The wound was not very deep, but had already started to bleed.

"Damn, must have caught on something in the crowd," he took out his wand and healed the cut. "Alright, see you later!"

Lupin saw his godfather disappear into thin air and sighed heavily. After all he had heard, he could not tell if Harry was in any danger. With this uneasy feeling, Teddy turned on his heel and also vanished.


	16. Part I - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Chapter 8. The Potters.**_

When the bell rang, signaling the end of classes for the weekend, Lily took off the protective gloves, put away the trowel and the bucket into the niche, and left the hothouse, having wished Professor Longbottom – he was simply "Neville" at home – a nice weekend.

Twilight was approaching and it had gotten cooler. Lily flung her backpack on her shoulder as she walked slowly away from the castle to get some air before dinner and regroup from the hassle of the school week.

"Hey, Lil, where are you off to?" Hugo caught up with her at the trail that ran along the lake toward the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's house. His nose was smeared with dirt.

"Just taking a walk," Lily pointed toward the forest, then stretched on her tiptoes and wiped the dirt off her cousin's nose.

"Thanks. Oh well, then, see you later," Hugo got the hint and hurried toward the castle. From where she stood, Lily saw the Sixth Years walk up from the forest marge near the gamekeeper's house, most likely after their Care of Magical Creatures class. Of course, Rose wasn't among the students – after she was done with her O.W.L.s, her cousin did not pick this subject, thinking it useless. However, Greg and Shitsko were there. She considered calling out to them, but then decided to walk on alone.

She soon reached the end of the trail, and the tomb of Albus Dumbledore came into view. The marble slab was snow-white, and the trees with yellowing leaves were leaning toward it as if trying to shield it from the wind.

There were always flowers here. Many flowers. And the lemon drops that the Headmaster liked so much. Lily came close and fished a small packet of lemon drops from her bag. She put them on the edge of the tomb and walked on. It was her usual walking route; it ended on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, about fifty yards from Hagrid's house. There was marble here also. The Memorial to Life.

Lily stopped before the faintly glowing monument. The blue marble looked like it grew out of the grass in the very spot where twenty years ago Hagrid stood weeping, his sobs signaling to the defenders of Hogwarts that Harry Potter was no more.

It was his giant hands, modeled in marble, cresting out of the ground, raising toward the sky the body of a thin boy in glasses that sat slightly askew on his nose. The marble body was arched slightly, arms akimbo, as if the dead boy wanted to embrace the entire world, knees bent, the robes undone on the chest. His face showed defiance and strength in every feature: slightly parted lips, closed eyes, raised chin, tousled hair falling on his forehead, yet leaving the scar visible.

The prostrated body was raised above the ground and Lily could make out every curve, every line of the statue. It was the only reminder of the battle that happened on this land many years ago. Lily didn't know why this particular moment was chosen to be immortalized in marble. She just knew that this figure expressed the range of emotions that people felt that night – from bitterness of loss to defiance.

Lily came here often; she knew every crease in the robes, every curve. She also knew the inscription that ran along the sleeve of the Boy Who Lived; but even so, she always re-read it: "Surrendering to death – for life."

She did not immediately realize that there was someone next to her. She turned around and met the silvery gaze. Malfoy was silent. He just stood and looked – not at the marble statue, but at the girl who stood, head bowed, before it.

Lily turned and walked slowly away. She didn't want to share her feelings with anyone, let alone with Malfoy. However, he followed her, still without a word.

"What do you want?" Lily finally blurted out, without stopping. Scorpius caught up with her in two steps and walked by her side.

"Nothing. Just passing by," the Slytherin shrugged, staring down at his feet. His hands in his pockets, his stance relaxed – ever the master of the situation. But Lily did not want his company.

"Well, pass by then," she retorted, unsure of the source of her irritation. She expected him to say something sarcastic or mocking in return, at he always did, but Malfoy said nothing and he didn't walk away.

"Tell me, what is it like – to be the daughter of a national hero? How is it – to be Harry Potter's daughter?" Malfoy asked, looking up at her.

They walked along the lake in the gathering twilight. The castle drew closer, a few of its windows already lit up. The courtyard was empty, the only sound of voices coming from the Quidditch pitch.

"What is it like in the case of Draco Malfoy?" Lily prevaricated, not wanting to enter into a serious conversation with him. It would be better if he were horsing around, as usual.

"Well, I am not sure. As far as I know, Draco Malfoy does not have a daughter, so it is hard to say."

Lily couldn't help but smile, still pointedly avoiding looking at the Slytherin.

"So what would you say? Is it difficult to be a Potter?"

"Ask James," Lily glanced toward the Quidditch pitch, where figures clad in scarlet robes were flying on broomsticks.

"Listen, do you ever answer a question directly? Except in class?"

Lily grinned:

"Not everyone has to be like you. Actually, you don't give straight answers in class. Or ever, for that matter," Lily couldn't help but look at Malfoy and caught him smiling. He was also watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team fly over the pitch.

"Well, Potter has not fallen off his broomstick yet," Malfoy commented, looking toward the stands. "In his condition, that is quite an achievement."

"In his condition?" Lily asked, puzzled, when it finally dawned on her what had been bothering her ever since Malfoy came along. "Are you total and complete idiots? What if you are caught like this?"

"Pipe down, Potter in a skirt," Malfoy turned toward her, "No one will know. We just had a little bit, to celebrate the weekend."

"If you go at this pace, you will turn alcoholic by Christmas. Either you cut it out, or I will tell Faust and Slughorn," the girl threatened, folding her arms.

"There are two possible solutions to this."

"What are they?" Lily asked warily.

"The first is to avoid you. The second is to have you join us next time."

"Both solutions are unrealistic," the girl stated haughtily and walked away. She quickly reached the pitch where the Gryffindor players were walking wearily. A little ways from them, James was talking to Michael, who seemed to be less than thrilled.

"So, Potter caught it after all," Lily heard a voice drawl behind her.

"Why do you always call each other by your surnames?" The girl turned toward the Slytherin. He shrugged again:

"Well, I think that it is kind of difficult to pronounce 'James'. Too many consonants. 'Potter', at least, has some melody to it. Doesn't get stuck in your teeth, if you know what I mean."

Lily tried to understand whether he was serious or just pocking fun, but couldn't tell anything by the smug expression on his face.

"You know, if my name was Scorpius Malfoy, I would have killed myself," the girl said with an innocent smile.

"And if I had red hair, I would have shaved it off and worn a wig," the other replied, raising his eyebrows.

"What's the conversation about?" James had gotten within an earshot, the broomstick on his shoulder. His robes were smeared with dirt and his face was scratched.

"It is about a Gryffindor Seeker forgetting that broomsticks were meant to fly in the air and not plow the depths of the Earth," Malfoy calmly assessed his friend's appearance which betrayed many a time he kissed the ground. "Or have they issued a new brand of Snitch, a mole?"

Lily was listening to this silly conversation, annoyed. She wanted to talk seriously with her brother, but that was not likely to happen, what with him having plied himself with Firewhiskey in the company of a Slytherin. She was already turning to walk away from the pair of them, when Greg called out to her.

"Hello," he nodded at the Seventh Years and then smiled at the girl: "May I speak with you about something for a moment?"

Lily nodded and gladly parted with the strange duo. The two friends exchanged glances.

"You know, if she has to get involved with a Slytherin," the Gryffindor mumbled on their way to the locker room, "I would have preferred if it was you chasing after her."

"I do not chase after girls," Malfoy retorted resentfully. "Especially, prefects. Especially Potters."

They entered the locker room, which was already empty. James took off his Quidditch uniform and padding, put away the gloves, and sat on the bench, looking at Malfoy, who sprawled on another bench and was stretching himself lazily.

"Potter, remind me, why do we call each other by our last names?" Scorpius asked suddenly.

"Is it because you have rotten memory and can't remember my given name?" James suggested, also lying down on the bench and stretching his legs. "Why do you ask?"

"Just to fill a pause in a conversation while you are pondering 'How to get at the bloke who is dangling after my sister and make it look like an accident?'. By the way, you can think out loud, I don't mind. It's been a while since I heard one of your ingenious plots."

"Something must be wrong with your memory," James remarked, putting his hands behind his head. "This evening has been an ingenious implementation of a brilliant plan. My plan, mind you."

"Oh, yeah, you sneaking into Hogsmead to grab a bottle of Firewhiskey, using the secret passage that _I_ discovered – that was the work of pure genius, indeed," Malfoy closed his eyes sleepily and turned onto his side.

"_We_ did, not _you_!" James retorted, also making himself comfortable and closing his eyes. "Remind me later where we stopped debating and I will make sure to have the last word."

"Aha," Malfoy mumbled, almost asleep, "And you remind me to remind you that…"

"Shut up, Malfoy, you are not letting me sleep," James tried to make himself more comfortable. "I just don't see how one can sleep here…"

"That's because one shouldn't sleep here. It is a locker room," a voice rang out above them and both sat up at once, eyes open wide. Xenia stood over them, wearing a warm white sweater and smiling her cold smile, looking over two sleepy chaps.

"Where did you come from?" Malfoy rubbed his eyes and stood up, stretching. "We had just found a theme for an debate."

"I saw you come in here and decided to wait for you, so as not to walk back to the castle alone. But you never came out. If I knew that you had decided to spend the night here, I would not have bothered you," the girl grinned and left the locker room. The friends looked at each other and took off after the Slytherin, shouting: "Xenia, wait!"

Xenia was standing by the entrance, but she was no alone – Lily was with her. Apparently, whatever business Gregory had with her was taken care of quickly.

"Were they in there together?" the Gryffindor looked, surprised, from the chaps to Xenia.

"Yes, and under compromising circumstances, as well," Xenia laughed.

The girls turned around and walked toward the castle.

"I didn't know that sleeping has become a crime," Malfoy grumbled, whereas James merely nodded, looking at Xenia who was walking ahead of him. Then he looked back at Scorpius.

"You are ogling my sister!" the Gryffindor growled quietly, so that the girls would not hear him.

"I have a right – you are ogling my cousin," Malfoy chortled, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "Listen, your father is quite a specialist, after all. Not everyone could have made a daughter like that."

"Malfoy," James warned, scowling.

"And you said that _I_ had a bad memory," chuckled Malfoy. "Weren't you the one offering your sister to me not ten minutes ago?"

"I didn't offer you anything!"

"Need a reminder?" the chaps stopped, looking at each other.

"I will remind you about the antlers that someone sported on his blond head!"

"I feel sorry for you, Potter. Your arsenal has remained at Squib level since the second year."

James took out his wand. Malfoy took out his.

"Merlin take you! Are you ten years old still, both of you?!" Lily stood between them, looking from one to the other. "Why don't you just get into a fist fight for our watching pleasure?"

The chaps stared at her, taken aback.

"Hand over your wands!" she demanded.

"What?!" James and Malfoy asked in unison.

"Wands, quickly! Or else, I am going straight to Faust."

The friends exchanged glances and then held out their wands to Lily. She put them in her bag, turned her back on them proudly, and walked over to Xenia.

"It's all your fault," James chuckled, plodding after the girls.

"Don't put it over on me, Potter."

"You were ogling my sister."

"It's your problem. I do what I want. And if your shaggy head does not comprehend this, you…"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Lily turned around sharply, enraged. The chaps almost bumped into her. "If you don't shut up, both of you, I will curse you and leave you here! I am sick and tired of listening about how much you love each other! Spare us the details of your love life!"

James shot Malfoy an angry glance, to which the other responded with a disgusted grimace. They heard Xenia laugh in the distance.

**This completes Part I. As you see, the stage is set for a lot of future development, both plot- and character-wise. Enjoy!**


	17. Part II - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**Part Two. Black Widow**

_**Chapter 1. James Potter.**_

September was drawing to the end, bringing closer two long-awaited events: the first Quiddich game on Saturday and the first trip to Hogsmead on Sunday. However, despite the anticipation of the pleasant weekend, James woke up on Wednesday somewhat depressed. No, he had gotten enough sleep and was not bothered by either his classmates' snoring or his own nightmares. Although, come to think about it, he probably would have preferred the nightmares.

That night he saw the green hillside again, and the moon reflecting in the lake. For a long time, no one showed up, and then the doe and the stag arrived. They didn't lie down, as usual; instead, they stood and watched him, constantly looking around, as if they were feeling anxious. And then they dashed away, leaving James in his empty dream again.

Apprehension – this was what his trusted friends from the dreams conveyed to him last night. A gloomy morning only deepened the feeling of dread.

He dosed off in his first class session – that was partly why he had picked the History of Magic for his N.E.W.T. examinations. Binns was (as usual) quite ghostly today, to match James' mood. If Malfoy were there, he would have lightened the mood, but the Slytherin did not choose to continue this subject after the O.W.L.s.

"James," someone called him quietly. At first, the youth thought that he had dreamed it, but the summons continued. The Gryffindor raised his head and saw Xenia, sitting in the row ahead, smiling at him.

"What?" James responded grimly, thrusting his hand into his hair.

"Nothing anymore," she watched his gesture.

"Did you learn this from Malfoy?" the Gryffindor looked at the girl with displeasure.

"Learned what?"

"Dumb jokes!"

"Nice talking to you," Xenia grinned.

"Listen!" a Ravenclaw girl sitting next to Xenia turned toward them. "Will you shut up? I can't hear anything!"

James shrugged and laid his head on his hands once again, preparing to return to his prior state, when he was jolted by Xenia's bright voice:

"Professor Binns, may I change seats, please? The draft from the window is bothering me."

"What?" the ghost seemed to have only now realized that there was such thing as the wind.

"It's drafty. May I move?" the girl repeated innocently.

"Eh… Yes… Yes, of course, Ms. Wendy. So, if that Confederacy…"

James was no longer listening to the ghost's rustling voice – Xenia sat next to him, spread her scroll neatly, and began taking notes after Binns.

James, his head still resting on his hands, was following her slender fingers gripping the quill, the angle of her shoulders, her graceful profile, the sweep of her long eyelashes, her gleaming golden hair.

"Do you only attend classes to sleep and stare at girls?" Xenia muttered out of the corner of her mouth, without looking up from her notes.

"I am not staring," James whispered back. "I am gazing in admiration."

"Well-well-well, pray, continue."

"Did you come here to escape draft or to avoid disturbing that girl next to you?"

She smiled, put away her scroll, half covered in her calligraphic handwriting, and looked at the Gryffindor with her chin propped on her hand.

"Not interested anymore?" James inquired.

"You are distracting me."

"For how long?"

Xenia thought about it:

"About twenty minutes. You were snoring too loudly."

"And so you decided to sit here and poke me in my side if I fall asleep?"

"Only for the good of the rest of the class," she smiled.

James realized that he was enjoying lying on the desk like this, watching Xenia's smile, and talking about nothing in particular.

But, as usual, all good things must quickly come to an end. The bell rang, the class stirred, collecting their textbooks and writing materials. Binns exited the classroom through the blackboard.

"Are you coming?" Xenia was on her feet and had already packed her bag. James stretched, stood up reluctantly, put away the textbook he never opened into his backpack, and held his hand out for the Slytherin's bag. She handed it to him as if it was something she had always done, and together they walked down several hallways to the classroom where Flitwick was teaching the senior Charms course.

They walked in companiable silence; sometimes they would look at each other and smile. They walked into the classroom together, and James gave Xenia back her bag, and then sat down at his favorite desk, next to Malfoy. The other blinked rapidly, looking at his friend:

"Apparently, I did the wrong thing by dropping the History of Magic, if people walked out of it with the expression on their faces as if kissed all over by a Veila. And not merely kissed," Malfoy did not take his eyes off the Gryffindor as he was taking out his textbook. "Was Binns showing you striptease?"

James remained silent, looking at Xenia, who was settling at her desk in the first row. Surprisingly, the History of Magic was the only class where she sat almost in the very back of the room, in front of the Gryffindor. In all other classes, the girl sat in the front.

"I hope that this is the last time I am seeing such a blissful expression on your face, Potter," Scorpius complained, leaning against the back of his chair and looking derisively at his friend. "What were you and Xenia doing just now that you look like a March cat?"

"Leave me alone, Malfoy," James responded lazily, not wanting to spoil the moment. "If your morning did not pen out, it is your problem."

"And yours, I see, quite penned out," Scorpius chuckled, catching Xenia's smile directed at them. "Well, it is quite to my benefit."

"Why is that?" James was in such a state of blissful euphoria from having had a nice conversation with the Slytherin and even familiarly carried her bag, that he answered almost mechanically.

"Well, I can talk Xenia into occupying you with something on Saturday. Then Ravenclaw will defeat Gryffindor, and that is only in my interests," Malfoy was thinking out loud, knowing very well that his friend was only hearing half of it, if that. Scorpius snapped his fingers in front of Potter's physiognomy.

"What?" James stared at Malfoy as if he only just noticed him.

"I was telling you that I slept with your sister yesterday."

"What?!"

The classmates sitting next to them turned around at James' roar, but Malfoy only laughed:

"Long live the shock therapy. Nothing, sit down."

"You just said that…" the Gryffindor retook his seat.

"Aha, I slept with your sister. And the Earth is square, and McGonagall keeps a captive bass-guitarist in her closet and tortures him at night. And the hedgehogs have proven conclusively that they are your kin…"

"What?"

"Well, there is a certain resemblance there…" Scorpius waved toward his friend's disheveled hair. "If only they also could climb firs…"

"What do firs have to do with it?" James took his wand out of his pocket and frowned. Malfoy chortled – when he was a Third Year, he had a good long laugh at Potter's wand being made of fir, a tree that was virtually unknown in England.

"Well, if hedgehogs also happened to harbor unacknowledged feelings for firs, then you would not have been able to deny your kinship with them…"

"Malfoy, did you not sleep well today?"

"Well, of course, I told you that I sl…"

"Malfoy, stop it, or I will stop being kind," the Gryffindor said warningly, getting riled up.

"All right, boys, let's calm down," Flitwick entered the classroom and minced toward his desk and the podium of pillows. Having climbed it with ease, the professor looked over the classroom with his usual smile and put his palms together:

"So, who will demonstrate the Directed Flight Charms today?"

James stared, frightened, at Malfoy:

"Had we learned that?"

"Apparently, yes, since Flitwick mentioned it in passing," Scorpius shrugged his shoulders.

They exited the classroom with additional homework and a "troll" per each of them. Yet, when did it ever bother them? Perhaps as First Years, when they were adversaries and tried to prove – to each other more than to anyone else – that each of them was better than the other.

On their way to the dungeons where they had double Potions, they saw Lily and Greg standing off to the side. Lily was smiling, chatting about something or other with this sleek and all-around neat overage juvenile retard with a sugary smile.

"Potter, I didn't realize that your statue was intended for this hallway," Malfoy pulled on his friend's robes, moving him along. "I don't think it will fit the décor well what with your face a la 'death to pretty Slytherins' – it will spoil the milieu.

James walked on, glancing back a few times at the couple by the Transfiguration classroom, until his sister and her beau were out of sight behind a corner and the two friends reached the stairs.

James and Scorpius felt more comfortable in the Potions class than at Flitwick's. First, Slughorn was Head of the Slytherin House and had a weakness for his charges, especially as Malfoy demonstrated from the very beginning his extraordinary talents for the fine science of preparing potions and elixirs. And as for James…

"Potter, remind me, please," Malfoy muttered in displeasure as they were leaving the classroom, "why does Walrus like you so much? Me, I understand – my potions are always the right colour and cauldrons do not explode or melt for Merlin only knows what bizarre reasons. But why, instead of giving you a bow-legged 'troll', Slughorn always hands you the box with candied pineapple, I don't understand. Do you want to enlighten me on the nature of your relationship?"

They were walking up the stairs that led from the dungeons to the Great Hall in order to re-invigorate themselves with lunch after a successfully studious morning.

"Hmm, do you want all the reasons?" James feigned deep reverie, readjusting the strap of his backpack.

"Go ahead, I am in no hurry right now."

"Well, let's start with me passing the O.W.L. with 'Above Expectations', stunning not only Slughorn, but all the other teachers as well. This alone earned me a box of pineapples."

"As well as the 'Brilliant Crammer' badge," Scorpius interjected, as he stopped at the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Don't stoop to petty jealousy, Malfoy," James smiled. "So, secondly, I am the son of Harry Potter…"

"Secondly and finally," the Slytherin interjected, unable to help himself, as his silvery gaze followed two Ravenclaw girls who passed him on the way to their table.

"Well, here we can isolate a few secondary reasons," James continued in a mentoring voice, pretending not to have heard his friend's caustic remark. "My grandmother is Lily Potter, whom Walrus worshipped and adored. I don't even know why he never adopted her as his daughter."

"Could it be that he had not-so-fatherly feelings for her?" Malfoy suggested, raising one blond eyebrow and thrusting his hands in his pockets.

"Ask him sometime; he is Head of you House after all. Also, besides Lily Potter being my grandmother, I also have a sister named Lily Potter."

"The Potters' lack of imagination in picking out names makes one doubt their broad-mindedness."

"Shut up, Malfoy. You asked a question and I am trying my best to answer it," James' eyes sparkled with repressed laughter.

"Do you have anything else to say? I want to eat," Malfoy said indignantly, nodding expressively toward the Great Hall where the majority of the student body was already consuming the fruits of the house elves' labor.

"And finally, the main reason, I believe, is my charisma," James smiled broadly.

"Like I said, you two have some unacknowledged feelings for each other. I think that I should tell Xenia about it, to keep her from wasting her smiles," Scorpius grinned and walked through the open doors toward the appetizing and alluring aromas.

"Malfoy!" James shouted, hurrying after him. "If you…"

"Bon appetite, Potter," the Slytherin said with his favorite sly smile, patting James on the shoulder and heading for his table. He intentionally took his time deciding on where to sit and finally sat next to Xenia.

James plopped down at his table with a frown, keeping the Slytherin couple in his sights. He picked up the first dish and started devouring it. The Gryffindor was upset and alarmed. He dropped his fork.

"What's wrong?" Hugo was sitting next to him, reading a textbook propped on a jar of pumpkin juice.

"Nothing," James waved him off, picking up his utensil, and returned to eating, his enthusiasm gone. Unbeknownst to him, the feeling of dread with which he woke up returned. The interlude with Xenia, and Malfoy's company distracted him from it, but now the uncomfortable sensation was back. Why? What was it that he saw or heard that the sixth sense developed with the help of the "pets" began sounding the alarm?

"What are the plans now?" Malfoy settled next to James, as usual, while he was finishing his meal.

"Well, as far as I know, we have no more classes today, so we can occupy ourselves with… doing nothing," the Gryffindor suggested, looking at the other students hurrying for their after-lunch lessons. "I love being a Seventh Year."

"Aha, you love it now, whereas the teachers will love you at the end of the school year. Twice a day, every day. For the entire exam week," Malfoy sneered, taking fruit jelly from the bowl. "And, besides, we have McGonagall tomorrow, if you remember."

James groaned, realizing what was in store for them. He turned to his friend and said defeatedly:

"To the library."

Malfoy nodded obediently. The friends got up and headed for the "Madam Pince's almshouse", as they called the despised premises with shelves and books. However, McGonagall told them to write a report a week ago, and they never found time for it.

They sat at their favorite table in the corner, and took out their parchments and quills. Malfoy brought a stack of reference books, and the Seventh Years became engrossed in the details of live transfiguration and its practical applications.

"Potter, do you know, by any chance, if Weasley has a bed here?"

"Huh?" James looked up, puzzled.

"I am saying that your cousin seems to never leave the library."

The Gryffindor shrugged his shoulders and glanced over at Rose and her table partners.

"Why is Gregory looking so pleased?" James asked suspiciously, looking at the smiling Slytherin sitting next to Chang.

"Maybe he managed to get into your sister's…"

"Malfoy!" the Gryffindor growled, feeling that his mood was now completely ruined.

"Don't jump down my throat – _I_ had nothing to do with it," Malfoy turned the page, trying to find more useful information. "There, you can ask Weasley instead, she's gotta know."

And, indeed, Rose was walking over to their table.

"Hello," James looked up at her.

"Hello. Listen, Jim…"

"Jim? Potter, is that your nickname?" Malfoy nearly fell off the chair on which he was rocking. "And do you know the commands? 'Down', 'heel', and, you know, …"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Rose ordered, resenting the interruption. "James, I wanted to talk to you about your marks. Yesterday, I…"

"Oh, so now you are interested not only in _my_ marks," Scorpius interjected again, smugly.

"Malfoy, one more word and you will be interested in your nose's migration to the back of your head," Rose said through clenched teeth. They she turned back to her cousin. "Listen, you have completely…"

"Rose, do you know why Gregory looks so happy?" James asked suddenly, interrupting Rose once again. "Why is he glowing like this?"

The girl looked back at her table, clearly put out at not being able to finish her sentence.

"He is glowing because Lily agreed to go to Hogsmead with him. But I wanted…"

"Wait, stop," James clearly did not care about his marks, of which he was well aware anyway. "He invited Lily to Hogsmead?!"

"Yes, last Friday," Rose narrowed her eyes. "And since we are talking of Hogsmead, I have to mention that Faust has threatened to deny you leave if you don't start taking your studies seriously!"

"Let him," James shrugged and exchanged looks with Malfoy. For them, who had discovered two secret passages between the castle and Hogsmead years ago, this was not scary news.

"And he also said that he would suspend you from the Quidditch team," the Head Girl played her trump card.

"He wouldn't dare," James blanched and sat up straight. "He wants Gryffindor to win as badly as we do!"

"If he has to make a choice between your studies and Quidditch, then, trust me, he will choose the former!" Rose turned and strode away, happy with the effect her speech had.

"Well…" drawled out Malfoy, hiding a grin. "Congratulations, now you have got an incentive to study!"

"Go to hell, Malfoy! Don't distract me from pretending to be a stellar student," the Gryffindor muttered, scribbling angrily on his parchment scroll.

"Yeah, I believe that McGonagall will be properly shocked having read your example of a practical application of live transfiguration," the Slytherin uttered didactically looking at his friend's parchment.

"Anything you don't like?" James bristled, annoyed as it was.

"Well, the idea of transforming a Dementor into a lap dog, to make it easier for him to find food… I don't see it winning a popularity contest. It is just my opinion though," Malfoy fell silent, but finally burst out laughing.

"Either you shut your mouth or you will become a lap dog yourself!" James took his quill and crossed out his entire essay, without so much as a look in his friend's direction.

"Give it to me, you, shaggy wonder," feigning a sigh, Scorpius took the Gryffindor's parchment. James merely smiled tiredly at Malfoy as he let the Slytherin pass his wand and quill over his parchment. "I hope one day they will erect a statue in my honor for my patience in taking care of yet another Potter. Just don't forget to become a hero, ok?"

James nodded, smiling and assuming his favorite pose – lying with his head on the desk, his eyes closed. Books always made him drowsy.

By evening, however, after a quick supper, James felt once again bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to kick butt at the Quidditch practice. Michael was still angry at him for last Friday, and James was hoping to rehabilitate himself tonight.

The team had already gathered on the field. Michael (the Keeper) was explaining something to Caitlin Weasley, her cousin Charlotte, and the rookie Fourth Year Brad Finnigan. Hugo Weasley and Ed Thomas were standing on the sidelines, waving their bats.

"All right, everyone's here, let's start," Michael commanded, looking severely at his Seeker. James smiled innocently, jumped on his broomstick – the latest "Lightning" model that came out in the middle of the summer – and with mounting enthusiasm zoomed back and forth across the field.

The practice was definitely a success. James must have caught the Snitch twenty times, and each catch was accompanied by spectacular aerial feints. Others were up to par as well. The Bludgers failed to knock anyone off their broomsticks or even inflict significant injuries; nervous Brad did not drop Quaffle even once; and the goal posts, as if bewitched, caught every red ball thrown by the Chasers.

James alighted from his broomstick, looking for Malfoy, who was nowhere to be seen. However, he saw Xenia wave at him from the stands. The Gryffindore's heart skipped a few beats.

"James, are you coming?" Hugo called out to him as he headed for the locker rooms. Potter merely shook his head, tightened the grip on his broomstick, and walked toward the girl as she descended from the stands. He watched as she easily hopped down the steps and thrust his hand through his tousled hair.

"You have played well," Xenia stopped before him, smiling her icy – icy? No, warm! – smile. "Shall we go? It is chilly over here."

James nodded, shifting his broomstick to the other hand and looking over her slender figure in jeans and a sweater. All of a sudden, he felt ridiculous in his loose Quidditch robes with their silly scarlet colour.

"I need to put my uniform and my broomstick in the locker room," James noted, looking at the girl at his side, lit by the glittering yellow flames coming from the lamp posts above them. She nodded and the two of them headed for the small building, empty at this time, judging by absence of light in the windows.

They entered the locker room and James decided not to turn on the lights – he didn't want to undress in front of for Xenia. He groped his way to his locker, put away his broomstick, and pulled off his gloves and robes. He took his sweater and school robes out of the locker, but decided not to put the robes on.

"Where are you?" James squinted, trying to see Xenia in pitch dark.

"Here," she echoed somewhere near the doorway. The Gryffindor headed for her, bumped against something, and painfully hit his shin.

"Damn!"

"Are you alive?" Xenia's cold hands touched his wrist. Then she said "lumos" and her wand lit up her face.

"Everything is fine, here," James, still wincing with pain, handed her his robes. "What will I do without you in the History of Magic class should you catch a cold?"

She smiled.

"Well, at least you know your way to the hospital wing," she replied, looking him in the eye. And James knew what he needed to do now – he let go of the robes, embraced the girl, and kissed her cold lips.

His wand fell to the floor and the light went out. Xenia stepped toward him, opening her mouth, and accepting his kiss. If James could think right now, he would cringe at the feel of her cold fingertips against his neck, but he didn't care. He felt as though he was in heaven, and he would not leave it of his own volition. Not for anything.

"Your tongue is so sweet," James breathed, burying his face in her golden hair.

"The lemon drops," she smiled in the dark, caressing his unruly hair. Xenia started when his lips touched her neck.

"You are so cold," he lifted his face, feeling her breath on his chin. He felt as though he was getting to know her with every new touch: the taste of her lips and her skin, the softness of her hair, the curves of her body.

"Well, this is what you are for, isn't it?" the girl smiled. James didn't have to be told twice – his lips covered hers, forcing her to accept his tongue. Time ceased to exist once again. Only the hands. Only the lips. Only the beating of her heart. And her uneven breathing.

"Potter!"

The young people started and jumped apart at the loud voice and the bright light flooding the room. Standing on the threshold, wand in her hand, was Madam Hootch. She looked wide-eyed from the robes on the floor to the pair in front of her.

"Ten points off Slytherin, Ms. Verdi! Thirty points off Gryffindor, Mr. Potter!"

"Why?" asked James indignantly.

"Because this is the second time, Potter, that you have been caught in a compromising situation here," said Madam Hootch, glaring at the guilty students.

James couldn't help smiling, remembering being caught here with Violetta a year ago. Back then, they were missing more than half of their clothing, and received more punishment than just points taken off.

The Gryffindor cast a quick glance at Xenia. She was biting back laughter.

"Quickly, off to the castle with you, and out of my sight! You have turned the locker room into devil knows what!"

James picked up his robes and the two of them hurried away. They made it all the way to the castle in silence. In the Entrance Hall, the Gryffindor caught Xenia by the hand. It was warm now.

"Will you go to Hogsmead with us?"

"Bored with Malfoy already?" she smiled – for some reason she was smiling at him all the time lately. James shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, okay, I have already promised to Scorpius anyway that I would go with you."

She kissed the corner of his lips lightly and headed for the Slytherin common room. James stood rooted to the spot, trying to decide whether he should strangle Malfoy or to thank him. Still undecided, he headed for the Gryffindor tower.


	18. Part II - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

_**Chapter 2. Lily Potter.**_

Lily stood in the middle of her room, looking for her scarf. She hadn't been able to get around to cleaning lately – all Fifth Years had been swamped with homework from the get go, plus she had her prefect duties as well. She didn't have time for cleaning her room herself, and the house elves had their own ideas about putting things in order. As the result, it sometimes took her a long time to find her things.

Having finally discovered her scarf among other clothing on her chair, she wrapped it around her neck, made sure that her cloak was properly fastened, pulled on her gloves, and, satisfied with her appearance, ran out of the room. The Gryffindor common room was almost empty – most students had gone to the pitch right after breakfast.

"A pennon for you?" Emma Thomas was still at the table, taking hand-made pennons in Gryffindor colours out of the box. Lily nodded, took a bigger one, and rushed outside.

It was quite chilly, a strong wind catching her hair at once.

Greg was waiting for her on the steps – his hair neatly combed, as always; his tie in a tidy knot; a Slytherin scarf draped loosely over his shoulders; squeaky-clean cloak, polished shoes. Lily regarded the youth with admiration. She liked his serene eyes and his nice smile. He was easy-going, comfortable and fun to be with. Not at all like…

"Why are you so pale?" Greg offered his hand, helping her down the stairs.

"Nothing, everything is fine," Lily did not let go of his hand. They quickly walked toward the pitch, from whence already came the incoherent hubbub of voices from the assembled students and teachers.

Lily was silent, glancing at her companion with a light smile. He was so attentive, he noticed everything. Yes, she was pale since morning. She hadn't slept well. She dreamt all night of that strange masked and hooded man in a cloak. He had a wand in his hand.

With every passing month during last year, his image was becoming clearer. Closer. For instance, the wand in his hand was not clearly visible in the beginning. It appeared a little over a month ago. He came much closer. And last night he touched her – Lily felt the smooth leather of his gloves – and then turned his back to her, as if shielding her from something or holding her back.

"See you after the game?"

Greg and Lily stood at the edge of the pitch. The roar was growing louder. Apparently, the teams were just about to appear.

"Of course," the girl smiled at Greg and walked toward the scarlet-and-gold-draped spectator seats, where Rose, Hugo, and other non-playing Weasleys were beckoning to her.

Lily had barely taken her place between Rose and Shitzko when the players appeared on the pitch – first the team in blue robes, then the one in scarlet.

Did Lily Potter love Quidditch? More yes than no. It was hard for her not to love it, being the granddaughter and the daughter of two great Gryffindor Seekers. She knew that almost all her Weasley relatives played Quidditch during their school years: her mom, Uncle Ron, Uncle George, Uncle Charlie. Her many male and female cousins were crazy about the game.

Besides, how could she not love the game if, for the past five years, she dragged herself to the stadium, rain or shine, to watch her James, the third great Seeker in the Potter family, secure yet another victory for Gryffindor? To ascertain that he was safe and sound as he held the cherished golden ball in his hand.

Lily followed the black-haired figure with her eyes as it was making steep turns in the air, waiting for Madam Hooch to sound the whistle. Finally, the captains shook hands – Rose gasped next to her – and fourteen players soared above the pitch. The Snitch disappeared, and the Bludgers started their favorite game – seeing who could cause the most damage to the players of the opposite team.

Did Lily watch the Quaffle? No, never. She watched James in his drive to be the best he could be; she watched Hugo with his bat, Caitlyn, Charlotte, and James again. The whole game went like this. Because the fearless Lily Potter was afraid of only one thing – pain. Not her own – her loved ones'. And that was why she was once again cursing this blasted game which had caused James eight visits to the hospital wing so far, Hugo – three, and Caitlyn and Charlotte – one.

"20:0 in favor of Gryffindor!" the commentator's voice proclaimed from somewhere on her right. "And the Ravenclaw Chaser Liana McLaggen is heading for the opponent's goal posts…"

Lily saw a Bludger whizz by Hugo's ear, almost nicking him. Her cousin would not be outdone – he sent the insidious ball toward Liana, as she was whirling at Michael Williams. The girl evaded, but Lily instantly lost interest toward the episode – James had just soared upward, causing a collective gasp from the Gryffindor seats. The Ravenclaw Seeker flew after his adversary. The spectators froze, observing this vertical race.

Lily easily spotted the Snitch – it had just flown directly upward over the pitch, prompting James to make that risky move; it then froze for a moment and then shot toward the ground. Both Seekers followed it. The fans gasped, watching the two chaps dive. Lily covered her mouth with her hand, forcing back a scream.

Two meters above the grass – the Gryffindor could see it clearly – the Snitch began moving parallel to the ground, forcing the Seekers to abruptly change direction. The Ravenclaw player did just that, falling behind. But not James Potter. He simply let go of his broomstick and caught the Snitch in mid-jump. And then he plunged to the ground face down, holding the golden orb in his outstretched hand.

Lily couldn't remember whether she jumped from her seat before or after the final whistle, as she ran down the steps and onto the pitch, to the spot where Gryffindor seeker lay on the ground. Other people were heading there also, but she didn't even spare them a look. Move! Move, dammit!

She dropped to her knees at her brother's side just as Madam Hooch dismounted next to her. The girl grabbed her brother's shoulders and attempted to turn him onto his back. She didn't succeed – he was too large.

"Let me," Malfoy appeared at her side. He deftly turned the Gryffindor face up and leaned over him. The other slowly opened his eyes and… and his dirt-smeared face lit up with a mischievous smile.

"This is how you find out who truly cares about you," he said, gingerly lifting his arm, which must have taken the worst of the collision. He appeared to not intending to die any time soon.

Malfoy, vexed, kicked James' thigh.

"Ouch!" the Gryffindor who had been wincing over the pain in his arm, now grabbed his leg.

"Malfoy! Don't hit him!" Lily protested, stroking her brother's shoulder. "Are you really all right?"

"Of course," James smiles. "We won, didn't we?"

In the mean time, the Gryffindor students had gathered around them. The team, seeing that their Seeker was unharmed, loudly rejoiced in the defeat of the Ravenclaw House, while Madam Hooch leaned over James, examining his quickly swelling arm:

"Potter, to the hospital wing, quickly!"

To Lily's surprise, her brother did not object. Apparently, his arm really was not well. Malfoy helped his friend up – the Slytherin was still frowning.

"I will walk with you," Lily volunteered, still looking her brother over anxiously in search of more injuries.

"What for?" James winced, but once again he did not protest further. He was looking in the opposite direction. The Gryffindor followed his gaze – Xenia Verdi of Slytherin stood nearby.

"Listen, should Madam Pomfrey decide that you should stay in the hospital wing overnight, I shall make sure that you do," Lily said with a tinge of threat in her voice, also frowning. "Let's go."

The Potters walked off the pitch. Malfoy, to Lily's irritation, dragged along, carrying James' broomstick. The crowd was dispersing – the students were in a hurry to get back to the castle in order to find refuge from the wind.

"James, wait," Xenia caught up with them.

"He needs to see Madam Pomfrey," Lily turned sharply toward the Slytherin. And there she was, thinking that Xenia had her eye on Malfoy. But no, the Snow White was apparently after her brother.

Xenia ignored Lily's words, looking only at James. Malfoy walked up to them.

"Let's go, Potter," he took Lily by the arm and dragged her away. She tried to break free and waited for her brother to protest to his friend, but James merely waved them on and turned all his attention – the traitor! – to the Slytherin.

"Let me go!" Lily demanded angrily, struggling futilely against Malfoy's grip. He continued to drag her along, quite undeterred. The girl looked back – Xenia leaned over James' arm and was pulling out her wand. "What is she doing?"

"Don't sweat it," Scorpius advised, leading her further away from the pair. "She will not do anything to harm him."

"Let me go!"

"Yes, right," Malfoy relaxed his fingers, still watching Lily, lest she should run back.

"James needs to go to the hospital wing, not flirt with girls," the Gryffindor's eyes sparkled angrily as she stopped and folded her arms.

"She is his personal hospital wing," Malfoy grinned as he thrust his hands in his pockets. This pair was quite a sight – she, frowning, showing annoyance with him in every feature, while he, on the contrary, quite at ease and enjoying the situation.

"Don't talk rubbish, Malfoy," Lily snarled. She didn't know why she was so stubborn – because of her worry for her brother or because she was jealous. James allowed Malfoy to simply drag her away while he remained with _her_! Her James, who was always protecting and defending his little sister. It hurt.

"Rubbish is what you are doing now. Xenia is a student at a vocational academy in Greece. The academy for Healers," Malfoy explained, picking at a pebble with the tip of his shoe. "She knows medicinal spells that we haven't even dreamed about."

"Will she cure him?"

"I think so," Malfoy shrugged. "And if not, she will escort him personally to the hospital wing and even help him into his pajamas. Would you like to be there for that part?

"Windbag!" Lily turned on her heel and almost ran toward the castle, afraid that she would break the neck of this smug… this arrogant… this unprincipled, insolent, sarcastic… this charming idiot! That stray thought enraged Lily even more. She almost wished that the Slytherin followed her – this way she would get a chance to yell at him. But no footsteps sounded behind her.

"Well, fine!" Lily, annoyed, pulled the double doors open and almost crashed into Amanda Dursley.

"Hey, Lily," the glowing first year smiled at her in delight. "I watched the game! Quidditch is something, isn't it? I have already resolved to check out all the books about it from the library… And also, when I write to Uncle Harry, I will definitely ask him about what it was like when he played it. He was a Quidditch player, wasn't he?"

Lily nodded, inadvertently catching Amanda's unabashed enthusiasm.

"Is my father writing to you?" The Gryffindor felt a pang of guilty conscience – she had promised her father that she would keep her eye on the girl, yet she never had the time, what with all her homework and the responsibilities of a prefect. The only things she kept track of were Amanda's marks. The girl was one of the best in her year.

"Yes, the letter arrived this morning," Amanda thrust her hands in her robes pocket and began searching for the letter. She took out a box of pushpins, a broken quill, a handful of dry aconite leaves, some strange seeds before finally fishing out a piece of parchment covered with her father's handwriting.

"I will definitely write to Uncle Harry about how James played! And about him catching the little ball! He will be all right, won't he?"

"Yeah, I guess," Lily said, a little uncertain. For a moment something seemed wrong to her, something made her tense up, but the feeling vanished almost as fast as it appeared.

"And is it true that James is dating a Slytherin?" Amanda asked suddenly, looking wide-eyed at the prefect.

"How do you know?" Lily frowned.

"I saw him kissing her, and Zach had said that if two people are kissing like that, then…"

"Like what?" Lily raised one eyebrow.

"Well, as if they are trying to eat each other up," the First Year said innocently. "Zach said that grown-ups always kiss like that…"

"And who is Zach?" Lily asked, without, however, much interest. She was preoccupied with thoughts about James and his girlfriend. How long had this been going on if even the Hufflepuff First Years know about it?

"My brother," Amanda replied. "So, is James really dating a Slytherin?" the girl seemed unable to believe it. "Weren't Gryffindor and Slytherin always…?"

"Well, that is just bigotry…"

"Oh, well, yes, you yourself are friends with Gregory from the Slytherin House," Amanda noted astutely.

"Is it possible that you simply mistook someone else for James?" Lily asked hopefully, ignoring Amanda's remark about herself.

"No. I saw it with my own eyes! Today! I was on my way to the Owlery before breakfast and I saw Mr. Filch walking toward me. I decided to hide – I don't like him, he is always angry and picks on people. So, I hid behind a tapestry on the third floor. And they were there."

"What did James say?"

"Nothing," Amanda giggled, glancing around. "They didn't notice me. I sneaked right out."

"I see," Lily said slowly. "All right, I have to go now."

"Bye!" Amanda took off and ran out the door, leaving Lily alone in the Entrance Hall. The girl sighed heavily and headed to the Gryffindor common room.

The Gryffindor was hosting a victory party. There were so many people in the room that Lily felt as though everyone who was on the field and in the stands had come to celebrate. Of course, as a responsible prefect, she took the butter beer away from the First Years, forbid fireworks in the common room, and stuck around for the festivities, more out of the desire to see James when he returned than the desire to celebrate. Her brother showed up in about twenty minutes, which gave Lily a chance to leave the crowded and loud common room and seek refuge in her own. A trip to Hogsmead was scheduled for tomorrow and she had a pile of homework to do.

Last night she took care to bring the books she would need from the library and now, having taken off her street clothes, she climbed on the bed, and, with a scroll of parchment in her lap, began writing an essay on Arithmancy, which she intended to continue to study even after the O.W.L.s.

Hugo joined her in a few minutes, and together they finished up the Transfiguration homework. Shortly before dinner, Lily felt justified in putting aside her textbooks. Hugo was penning the clean version of the Potions quiz.

The girl watched her cousin with a smile on her face. He was so funny-looking – all long nose, freckles, red hair, and tightly pressed lips. He looked a lot like Uncle Ron, but was much more serious and responsible. Must have gotten that from Hermione.

"Hugo," she called, and the youth looked up.

"What?"

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" Lily asked timidly, fingering her quill and avoiding her cousin's eyes.

Hugo was momentarily stunned – such a question in the middle of the Potions homework must have caught him off guard.

"Well, yeah," he replied and his ears turned red. "And why… are you asking?"

Lily shrugged her shoulders:

"No reason. Tell me… Is it really as… pleasant as they say?" she asked bashfully, looking down.

"Says who?" Hugo seemed to be in a slight state of shock at this conversation.

"Well, everyone."

"Lily, did you fall for someone?"

The girl jumped:

"Why do you say that?"

"It's just that you are being very strange. And these questions of yours…"

"Nothing strange at all. I just wanted to ask. If you don't want to, then don't tell me!" Lily retorted angrily, kicking herself for raising the topic. Still, she was sure that it was safe to talk about it with Hugo, because he was always patient and kind. She couldn't very well discuss it with James. And she wanted to discuss it. After all, she would be sixteen soon and she was going to Hogsmead with a boy she liked. Of course, there was also Rose, but for some reason she didn't want to ask her cousin about it. Even if Rose had kissed someone before, she wouldn't talk about it.

"Lily," Hugo got up from his chair and sat down on the edge of her bed. "You shouldn't…"

"Let's go eat," Lily jumped off the bed and was began looking for her shoes. "I still have a Herbology report to write, so let's move it."

Even if Hugo had wanted to say something, he decided against it. Together, they went down to the Great Hall. Lily shoveled food in her mouth, hurried back to her room, and locked the door. He had had enough interaction with boys for today!

She didn't sleep well that night. The masked wizard was a disturbing presence in her dreams. He was definitely trying to protect her from some imminent threat. Why was he masked, however? What's with all the secrecy? Why these disturbing dreams?

Lily woke up exhausted and restless. She barely ate anything at breakfast, yet she was still looking forward to the Hogsmead trip with Greg.

The youth met her in the Entrance Hall, still impeccably dressed, his eyes just as serene as ever. He took her easily by the hand and they headed for the village, chatting merrily. Greg entertained her with amusing stories about his ancestors – his family was pure-blooded for the last ten generations, at least. He listened attentively to Lily as she spoke about the Weasley clan, about Albus and his sweet tooth. And Lily relaxed, forgetting all about the haunting dream.

They stopped at Zonko's, then went on to Scrivenshaft's where Greg bought Lily a new quill and multi-coloured ink. At Honeydukes they saw Rose and Michael who were picking out sweets for Shitzko, who remained behind in the castle. They stopped by a small park and sat on the bench to eat their Fizzing Whizzbees.

The park was milling with Hogwarts students in their black robes. Lily frequently spotted James and company, but she forgot about him quickly every time, because she was having a really good time with Greg.

"How about stopping in Three Broomsticks?" Greg suggested after dinnertime had come and gone. Lily gladly agreed. She felt a little uneasy about the young man who sat a little distance away from them, reading a newspaper. He seemed nervous and, judging by his face, unwell. A healthy person could not be that pale.

They rose from the bench and were soon entering the half-empty pub. By this time, many students would have returned to Hogwarts, and others were leaving the pub, having had their fill of butter beer. Greg moved a chair for Lily and sat down next to her at the table in the back of the room. He was smiling.

"I will go get us something to eat," the youth said finally and went over to the counter where Madam Rosmerta was bustling around. Lily, put her gloves in her cloak pocket and was looking around. She immediately spotted her brother's tousled hair. Xenia Verdi was sitting next to James, holding his hand. Malfoy sat next to them, clearly not feeling like a third wheel. They were chattering merrily and James frequently tossed back his head, laughing.

Malfoy, apparently, had spotted Lily as well. The three turned toward her and she had to smile and wave at them. Luckily, Greg returned just then with a tray that held several plates, a jar of butter beer, and ice cream.

"Thank you," Lily stopped paying attention to the other table and took her plate. She only now realized that she was famished.

"I will be right back, okay?" Greg indicated the door in the back of the pub. Lily nodded, smiling slightly. "Go ahead and eat, don't wait for me."

The girl followed her friend with her eyes and then occupied herself with the salad, keeping her eyes on her plate and not wanting pay attention to James' table. Greg returned in about five minutes. He sat across from Lily, fixing his crooked tie.

"What?" she whispered, catching a strange look on her friend's face.

"Nothing," he shivered, then took his fork and began picking at his salad. Lily stole a glance at her neighbors. He brother and Malfoy were winking strangely at each other. The Gryffindor mockingly raised her eyebrows and turned back toward Greg. He was looking at her with a sort of… hunger? Lily felt hot.

"Will you go with me for just a minute?" the Slytherin said quietly, nodding toward the door from where he just came.

"Okay," Lily replied quietly, putting down her knife and fork and standing up. Was it what she thought it would be? Why else would he want to be alone with her?

Together they passed James' table and two other groups from Hogwarts, and stepped into the hallway that led to the restrooms and the back door. Greg pushed open another door and pulled Lily into a supply room that held crates, boxes, and bottles.

"I don't think we are allowed to be here," Lily grinned when Greg pushed the door shut, turned sharply toward her, and grabbed her shoulders. _God, is it about to happen now?_ She squeezed her eyes shut – more in anticipation than fear – when Greg began leaning toward her, pressing her still closer. _It is about to happen!_ This was her last coherent thought before everything started happening at once – Greg's hot breathing, the door being thrown open with a loud bang, a voice shouting "Stupefy!", and strong arms, jerking her away.

**Ah, finally, a nice cliff-hanger! :) Things are beginning to happen and the next few chapters will be more action-packed than anything so far...**


	19. Part II - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

_**Chapter 3. Harry Potter.**_

Harry had spent the night at work. This was not the first time – it happened often enough during his eighteen years as an Auror. The older he became, the more responsibility he was given, the higher he rose up the career ladder – from an intern to a team lead – the more often he spent nights in his office; or was out on call with his team; or just crashed from exhaustion; or wrote status reports for the management. It was always something.

His shift had ended and he was free to go. His Aurors went home, but Harry stayed behind to finish up some paperwork that had been waiting for him for a couple of days. However, he just couldn't focus on it.

He sat at his desk, staring at the candle flame and thinking about Ginny, who probably wasn't sleeping now, even though he warned her that he wouldn't get back before lunch time. And he had also promised her that he would take time off work starting on Wednesday and they would go to Romania to visit with Charlie, where Albus was staying presently. Harry hoped that by doing this, he would make it up to his wife, if only a little bit.

"Good morning," Hermione entered the office, like a ray of sunshine, which had not been seen peeking into the enchanted windows for the past five days or so. She was dressed in light-coloured robes, her hair spilling over her shoulders. She smiled looking at Harry, hunched over his papers.

He returned a weak smile, imagining what Hermione was seeing: a thin face, grey from a sleepless night; grim green eyes; his hair a disaster; a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, opened at the throat; and a total chaos in the room.

"You have decided to turn into a mammoth again?" Hermione asked, displeased, walking over to his desk and turning on the lamps.

"Why into a mammoth?"

"Because if you refuse to heat the room, you will turn into a block of ice," she sat on a chair next to his desk. "Why are you still here? I thought that you had the night shift."

"I've decided to practice my calligraphy," Harry grinned at her, leaning back in his chair and tousling his hair still more. "Kingsley threatened to give me a desk job if I don't turn in my status reports."

Hermione looked closely at her friend, about to say something, when an Auror on call burst into the room – a tall man with a scar across his tanned face:

"Harry! The team has been dispatched. It is regarding your case…" he noticed Hermione then and withheld any details, but Harry understood even without them that the werewolves had shown up again. Otherwise, why would Tuba inform the leader of the team that was no longer on call?

Harry nodded, stood up and took his robes.

"You are off duty," Hermione noted, watching her friend's preparations in alarm. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry, I have to go," Harry patted his friend's shoulder. There was no fatigue in his eyes, only apprehension. They left the office together. "See you."

Harry hurried down cubicle aisle toward the guard who gave him a portkey. In a few seconds Harry stood beneath the grey sky, in the middle of a village street. A quiet village street. A dead street.

Harry's trained eye easily identified the black figures amidst sidewalks, swings, trees, and cars – Aurors, slowly walking from house to house. Then he saw a body about six meters away, by the gate. One of the wizards was just heading in that direction.

"Potter!" a stout man walked toward him, not a trace of emotion on his face. Zig. "We need the Obliviators, lots of them. And Healers."

"Witnesses?" – the two Aurors hurried down the street.

"Yes, they are being questioned now," Zig nodded toward one of the houses.

"Dead?"

"Nine people. All under seventeen."

"Any survivors?"

"Among the victims, no. But almost everyone else in the village are the witnesses. And the Muggle authorities are here too."

"What are the witnesses saying?" they walked through a neat gate into a quiet yard. By the wall Harry saw the bodies. He glanced at them for only a second and then looked back at the Auror.

"A pack of wolves burst into the village at ten o'clock in the morning. Some say there were around ten of them, others swear that it was more than twenty. The majority managed to run and hide inside. They saw the beasts attacking children and breaking their necks. Some attempted to fight back – they were torn up badly, but not bitten.

Harry raised his hand, unable to hear any more details. In the past month he learned them by heart – teeth marks on the necks, blood loss, bodies torn up by claws. Then, a little over a week respite – and now this God forsaken Muggle village that has paid for every day of that lull.

"Still, were you able to establish the number of attackers?"

"No. The Muggles are scared. 'Fear hath a hundred eyes', you know. The experts are examining the bodies right now to establish to try to establish the exact count. The first impression is that there were no more than five. There were real wolves among them, too."

"Yes, that was a smart move," Harry had to admit. He didn't want to go anywhere or do anything. He just wanted to stand still right here, not seeing the tears, the mothers' grief, fear in the eyes of those who witnessed the horrible werewolves' tryst. Only one question pulsed inside his head: why? Why no movement for so many days, the lying low, and then this?

"Zig!" a pale young man from Zig's team ran out of a house, as Zig was trying to light his cigarette. "What should we do with the cops?"

"What's the problem?"

"They are grabbing their guns and screaming that it is all a conspiracy," the Auror reported sheepishly. Harry remembered that he was an intern.

"Mr. Adams, act according to protocol. Disarm them and modify their memories," Zig said curtly to his subordinate, and then turned toward Harry. "I have no idea how this idiot was even hired! He can't do anything on his own… Listen, get out of here, you barely awake as it is. You can't do anything to help out here, anyway."

"Alright," Harry said tiredly, rubbing his face. "If anything new comes up, let me know."

"Of course," Zig cast away his cigarette and headed into the house, from whence a shout and the sounds of a falling body came. Adams must have carried out his instructions, after all.

Harry Apparated to the Ministry to finish the damn report so that he would feel free to finally go home. He would have to find some explanation for Ginny as to why their vacation would have to be postponed . Kingsley would be unlikely to let him go now, what with Harry leading the case. The case that now seemed anything but clear. Hundreds of patrols were conducted all over the country; "wanted" advertisements; working the leads. Nothing. If only they had a way to comb through all the forests of England – then they might stand a chance to find something of substance. As it was, they were like newborn kittens, poking every which way in blind hope of a breakthrough.

Harry felt the fatigue settle over him again. He was crossing the Atrium when he was hailed by a guard.

"What is it?" he turned toward the man in uniform.

"Your wife was here."

"Did she leave a message?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"I didn't know that you weren't in the building and so I called Mr. Tuba. They spoke and she left."

"Great, thank you," Harry nodded and hurried toward the elevators. He found Tuba at the entrance to the Headquarters as the Auror was methodically throwing crumpled papers up in the air and hitting them with the incinerating spell.

"Hey, you back already?" Tuba stood up, sweeping the ashes from his desk with a wave of his wand.

"Did you speak to my wife?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. She was surprised not to find you here."

"Did she leave a message?"

"Yes. She said she would meet you as you had agreed," Tuba replied, smiling.

Harry paled:

"Are you sure she said 'as we agreed'?"

"Yes. Harry, what…?"

"Did she say anything else?"

"Well… She asked if you were alright. She said that you must be very tired to have forgotten that you son was visiting with her brother. Yes, I think that was what she said," Tuba, alarmed at his team lead's contorted face, tried to find something, anything else. "That was it. And then they left."

"They?"

"She had another Weasley with her. Tall, freckled bloke."

"Ron…" Harry felt the knot in his stomach loosen up infinitesimally. "Thanks."

Harry turned on his heel and dashed down the hallway back to the elevators. Co-workers turned to look at the running Harry Potter, but he didn't care. He suddenly got the answer to the question that had been tormenting him: "why?", and it made his blood run cold with terror.

The elevator moved slowly, too slowly! Harry blasted out of it like a race broomstick, darted for the fireplace, threw in the Floo powder, and in another instant was flying through the Floo network.

When Harry came out of the fireplace in his house, he was met with silence.

"Ginny!" he cried, bursting into the living room. Nobody. Silence. Only an open letter on the table. Slowly, as though afraid of what he might read on the parchment, Harry reached out and brought it close to his eyes. His own handwriting. On the other hand, no, not quite – the "r" looked a little different. Not his.

He instantly comprehended the meaning of the written words: _"Ginny, let's meet at the 'Eloise's" on Diagon Alley at noon and have lunch together. Take Albus. Love, Harry."_

Harry glanced at the clock: it was five minutes to twelve. He rushed for the door, stuffing the parchment in his pocket. Trying to overcome his panic – _Ron is with her, Ron is there!_ – he ran outside and Apparated to the entrance of "Eloise's". Everything seemed normal here. Harry entered the bar and immediately realized that neither Ron nor Ginny were here.

"Have you seen a red-haired woman here, with a red-haired man?" he asked the owner. She looked up at him and said, surprised:

"Mr. Potter… How? I thought they left with you."

"When?" Harry cried, panicking again.

"About five minutes ago," Eloise was looking at him as though he was daft. "You left with your wife and your friend followed you."

"Where?!"

"How do I know? They left out the back door," the proprietor looked worried now. "Mr. Potter, are you alright? Do you need help?"

"Yes! Let the Ministry know, right away!"

"Let them know what?" Eloise shouted as Potter ran out the back door, nearly busting the glass pane. He never looked back, his wand out, pointing in front of him.

Harry stood in the middle of the street, unsure of where to go next – to the left of him was a narrow alley; to the right – another street that intersected with the main avenue; ahead of him was the dead end.

And then he heard a shriek – from the left. Without a second thought, Harry rushed into the alley, slipping on mud, soiling his robes on dirty walls. He turned a corner of a run-down building and what he saw before him made him scream:

"No!"

He ran forward at the sight of his wife's body on the ground and Ron, still struggling against a black-haired man who was trying to overpower him, and a werewolf at his side.

Someone rushed to cut Harry off. Before a huge werewolf knocked him to the ground, Harry cried "Stupefy!", forcing everyone away from Ron. Just then, horrible pain pierced his chest. He was still trying to do something, but the wand slid out of his claw-ravaged hand. The last things he heard before fainting from the pain were footsteps and voices. In his dimming mind, he heard a woman's heart-wrenching scream "Harry!" and he knew no more.

**As you see, this chapter is pretty dark, and the next one is darker still! Please hang in there - as they say, "life is like a fairy tale, the farther into it, the scarier it gets". :) There is light at the end of this tunnel - literally. And there is love, and, best of all, an enchanted forest!**


	20. Part II - Chapter 4 - Ginny Potter

_**Chapter 4. Ginny Potter.**_

The night dragged on. Ever since she received an owl from Harry, Ginny has been pacing around the empty house in despair and anguish. Storm raged outside, pounding against the walls and the roof, making trees in the garden bend almost to the ground. Wind groaned in the chimney.

Ginny wrapped her arms around herself, peering into the darkness outside. The wind must have knocked out power, because the streetlights were out. Candlelight flickered in the windows.

She knew all the reasons why they had settled in the ordinary Muggle town, but today she was wishing that their neighbors were wizards, on whom she could have called without a concern for giving herself away.

The clock struck three. The strikes echoed within Ginny, causing her to shiver, as she stood by the window. Many knew where the famous Harry Potter lived, but few could actually see his dwelling. It was protected by the same magic as his London house on Grimmauld Place. And if during their first years here crowds of fans would gather in the street, hardly anyone showed up here anymore, knowing that they were unlikely to see their idol. Ever since those first few years, the family members started using the fireplace more than the front door. And for a long time now the Potters were able to stroll down the street without the risk of falling prey to reporters or Harry's fans.

Ginny looked at the swing that was rocking in the wind. They sat on it till almost midnight yesterday, until it was time for Harry to go to work. She could still feel the warmth of his arms around her waist, his breath against her neck, his solid chest against her back, as she leaned into him. He was rocking them both slightly and she felt warm and cozy. Tenderness overwhelmed Ginny Potter at that memory.

Strange, but she still remembered as clearly as last evening that morning at King's Cross station and the boy in broken eye glasses and clothes about five sizes too big. She could close her eyes – and there he was, confused, a little scared of not making it to the mysterious Platform 9¾. She remembered every unruly lock of hair, his green eyes, his thin fingers gripping the handle of the baggage cart.

So many years passed – and yet nothing has changed. He became mature, strong, dependable. And Ginny admired him, just like she did on the first day. How much strength did this man possess to live through so much and remain so purehearted! Dumbledore would have said that Harry was protected by love. The love of his mother, his godfather, his friends. Ginny hoped that her love – vast, ardent, ready to give him anything, him alone – would save her husband from the most horrible thing that could happen to him. Untimely death.

Ginny felt tears rolling down her face. Being alone in this big house was always depressing for her. She loved it when her children were there, when Harry was sitting in the chair, tired, with a newspaper in his lap. She felt lonely when she was here by herself. The beloved wife and mother of three should not be home alone, especially during a storm. It was a pity that Albus, her darling boy who seemed to always be around, was not home. She thought with sadness of the time when Albus would also go to school. Of course, James and Lily would have graduated by then, but they wouldn't be living at home either.

Ginny wiped her eyes and sniffled. Someone was standing outside the house. Ginny felt sorry for him – at least she was inside.

She walked away from the window, took out her wand and drew to her a photo album from the bedroom. She sat down on the couch, tucking her feet under her, opened the red leather-album, and smiled. Their wedding picture on the first page. There were the four of them, happier than ever. Hermione, with tears in her eyes, looking at the ring on her finger, with Ron leaning over and whispering in her ear. Ginny, her eyes also shining with tears, pressing her new husband's hand. They weren't even twenty years old. Harry… In dress robes. Smiling – like never before. He smiled like that only a few times in all those years: on his wedding day and on the days his children were born. His eyes in the picture looked vastly different: as though this young man had not lived through so many losses, so many battles; as though he had not won the hardest battle of all, against evil itself. The picture showed an ordinary person, his face glowing with happiness.

Looking at the pictures, Ginny was remembering that day. Her parents and brothers, all together; except for Fred. But they had already survived his loss and moved on; aunty Muriel was grumbling as usual; George nearly burned down the tent, launching an enormous fireworks; Teddy Lupin swiped a bottle of butterbeer from the table. Andromeda almost had kittens upon finding her little grandson sloshed under the table.

And then there was the night; their very first one. And there were hands that made her moan and arch; and lips that left a blazing trail on her body. She knew all of him that night: his body, every scar, and every mole. And there was love – so great that she wanted to scream about it from the rooftops or just be silent, lying next to her beloved, who was sleeping soundly, holding her close.

Ginny sighed and turned the page. Then another. On all of them was Harry and she: remodeling the house; Harry's birthday; pregnant Ginny in her husband's arms; Harry and Ron, trying to put together the baby crib without magic; Harry and Hermione, bent over their books in the kitchen.

And there was James – black fuzz-covered head, mouth wide open, crying and thrashing, with Harry trying to stuff him into a diaper; talcum powder flying everywhere, Harry covered from head to toe, and James busily waving his arms and legs.

On another picture was James marching down the street, with Ginny in the background. She was pregnant with Lily then and ungainly, although Harry claimed that she was more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen. And there was James, poking surreptitiously at the bundle that was his younger sister, looking about him furtively after each poke.

There were Harry and James, installing a swing in the garden. Harry was trying his hardest, while the little Potter mostly entertained himself by secretly pulling out handfuls of grass and stuffing them into his father's collar, as he was leaning over the poles.

Ginny was leafing through the album as though turning the pages of her life. The life full of love and concern. Love for this man, who had given her so much happiness. Both happiness and worry. She has forgotten what it was like to worry for anyone else. Only for him.

Ginny's head fell against the back of the couch and she dozed off, exhausted from her vigil. Yet, even in her sleep she felt anguish. The photo album slid off her lap and a page flipped. Ginny's family was looking at her from the open page: Harry holding Albus, and Lily and James on either side of their father. The elder Potter's gaze was fixed on his wife, and even though everything in the picture was in motion, Harry didn't move or blink. And his green eyes, captured in the photo, held the same bottomless anguish as the sleeping woman's heart.

She woke up with a start. And the first thing she saw was her husband, looking at her from the picture. The green eyes of Harry Potter, who had spent the night at work and was trying at that very moment to finish his report and not fall over from fatigue.

Ginny stretched, feeling her stiffened muscles protest, got to her feet and closed the album, looking at the clock. Just after ten. Not entirely unexpected, what with someone walking around the house till the wee hours of the morning.

She was on her way to the kitchen when a big barn-owl knocked on the window. Ginny took the letter from the owl, opened it with baited breath, and smiled. It was from Harry. She read it and frowned. This was what happened to someone who worked around the clock. He asked Ron the day before to take Albus to visit with Charlie so that the boy would breath some fresh air and have fun with his favorite uncle, with whom he shared the same passion – dragons.

Ginny put the letter on the table, happy at the thought of going out to dinner with Harry, and hurried to the bedroom to take a shower and get dressed. Just as she was putting on a sweater, she heard foorsteps in the living room.

"Harry?" Ginny asked, peering into the hallway. Yet, this was not her husband, but Ron. He was smiling.

"Hi, li'l sis."

"What brings you here so early on a Sunday?" Ginny went back to the mirror to do her hair, and was looking at her brother's reflection. "And where is your wife?"

"I believe she is precisely where your husband is," Ron grinned, taking a magazine from the bedside table and flipping through it indifferently. "You were expecting him, weren't you?"

"No, I wasn't," Ginny fastened the hair-pin and turned to her brother, smiling. "I am meeting him on Diagon Alley at noon."

"I see," Ron nodded. "It's too bad. I wanted to talk to him about visiting Charlie."

"Why is it too bad? Come along, and you can talk to him then. Have you and Hermione also decided to go?"

"Yes, it will be nice to spend time all together, for a change," her brother shrugged his shoulders and tossed the magazine back on the table.

"Then you simply ought to go talk to Harry. He can arrange for Hermione to get time off as well," Ginny was feeling happiness seeping into her heart just as anguish was evaporating. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, sure. Where are you meeting him?" Ron handed his sister her purse.

"At noon. We still have time, so we can stop by the Ministry and pick him up," Ginny, rising on her tiptoes kissed her brother lightly on the cheek and breezed out of the room. Let the sky be overcast, but she was going to have dinner with her favorite men – her husband and her brother, and anticipating two whole weeks together with them afterwards. A real vacation. And Harry would be all hers; all of him; around the clock.

They exited the house through the door, sealed it, and Apparated to the Ministry's main entrance, where Harry Potter himself would hurriedly appear not much later, yet already too late.

The Atrium was not crowded – most wizards either had already arrived to work or had already gone home. Ginny smiled in greeting at the guard wizard, while Ron was gazing at the fountain, restored to its original form – before being damaged by the members of Dumbledore's Army and later mutilated by Voldemort's sycophants.

"Hello, I am the wife of…"

"…Harry Potter; yes, I know," the guard smiled amiably.

"Could you page him?"

"Certainly," the wizard got to his feet, picked up a blank note with the Ministry logo, quickly wrote something on it, touched it with his wand, and the official Ministry note flew off toward the elevators.

"I just don't know how Hermione passes this elf every day and has not issued an order to change its facial expression," Ron remarked slyly, pointing at the servile visage of the house-elf statue.

Ginny laughed.

"There is Auror Tuba," the guard nodded toward the tanned man.

The Auror looked inquiringly at Ginny and Ron:

"Are you here to see Potter?"

"Yes, I am his wife," the woman smiled. "Ginny Potter. And where is Harry?"

"Not here. He was summoned out into the field."

"But he was on call all night," Ginny said, looking at Tuba in amazement and slight annoyance.

"It couldn't be helped. Can I take a message?" the stern Auror said, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently.

"Well… that I will meet him as we have agreed," Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "Did he have any rest at all in the past twenty-four hours?"

Tuba did not reply, probably not knowing.

"I now understand how Harry managed to forget that his son has been visiting with my brother. It's daft," Ginny gave Tuba a reproachful look, and then, with a curt "Thank you; good bye," turned and walked away.

Ron waved to the Auror and trudged after his sister.

"Do you think Harry will be there on time?"

"He would have let us know if he wasn't, or cancelled it altogether. You know Harry," Ginny growled, walking outside. "We still have time. Shall we walk?"

Ron nodded and the two slowly walked toward the the city centre. They chatted about their father, about the latest Weasley news, about the letters from Rose, telling them of the main Gryffindor pet peeve – James Potter.

They still had to Apparate from a quiet side street to the Diagon Alley, in order to make it on time. Harry wasn't there yet – he must be running late, and noon was still ten minutes away, anyway. Brother and sister took a free table. Ron barely managed to order coffee for himself and Ginny when Harry Potter entered the restaurant, his robes slightly tattered, a wild look in his green eyes. _Must be straight out of battle_, Ginny thought a tad derisively about her husband, and smiled when the Auror seemed to have noticed Ron and her. It appeared that Harry was caught off guard at seeing Ron – should not have brought him? What if Harry wanted to be alone with her? But then he would not have asked to bring Albus…

"Hello," Ron stood up and held his hand out to his friend. Harry shook it, staring at Ginny. What was going on?

"Ginny, do you have a minute? I need to tell you something, alone," Harry said. She became even more worried.

Ron started to get to his feet:

"I shall go get more coffee."

"No, stay here," Harry answered, taking his wife by the elbow. "We'll only be a minute."

Ginny let him lead her away – to the back door, into a dark alley, to the left of the dead end.

"Harry, what happened?" Ginny did not understand why he was leading her away. "What…"

"Hold on," her husband said curtly, leading her farther still, until they turned a corner. Ginny couldn't see very clearly in the gloom, but the yellow eyes in the corner made her shriek in horror. Harry covered her mouth with his hand, his green eyes looking into hers – but the eyes were not his. She strained to break away, to take out her wand, because it was suddenly clear to her that this was not her husband, that these were not Harry's eyes looking at her hungrily, not Harry's smell coming from the body pressed against her, not Harry's arms holding her.

And then there was pain – he threw her to the ground and pressed her against the dirty pavement, next to huge paws with claws, and teeth. She could smell fetid breath. She tried to pull away, to move, but the man who stole her husband's appearance knew what he was doing. And before she felt the beast's teeth on her exposed neck, before pain and terror faded in her along with consciousness and life, she saw a gloating smile on Harry Potter's face, and his cruel eyes that did not belong with her Harry's features. At the same instance, she heard the scream – "Ron!" – and then there was nothing, not even the green eyes.

**I held off on translating this chapter until the last moment (last night) - just because this was the hardest chapter for me to both read and translate, emotionally - especially since I was so under the spell of Ms. Rowling's last line in Volume 7, "all was well". I am sure it was not easy for you to read, either. On the other hand, the Harry Potter universe was never loss- or pain-free, and, unfortunately, some of Harry's traits - like keeping information from his loved ones in order to spare them pain and worry - also put people around him in jeopardy, due to lack of sufficient information to make good decisions. Sorry, I am not knocking our favorite character, just being realistic! (sheepish smile)**


	21. Part II - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

_**Here is another chapter: I wanted to dispel some of the drama of the previous chapter and provide a different perspective. Scorpius always brings a smile to my face with his tenacity, sarcasm and reluctant, but unfailing sense of honor. Enjoy!**_

_**Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.**_

He was always proud of his skepticism, quick wit, and attention to detail, and was never shy about manifesting it. And, as it turned out, once again, with good reason. Today he should have earned himself a medal, as a minimum. Or a "Thank you", at any rate; at least, from Lily Potter.

Malfoy looked at the girl and realized that he was not going to get even that much. The red-haired Gryffindor was at a total loss for words. She looked, flabbergasted, from Malfoy to the unconscious Gregory at his feet, to Xenia at the door, and finally, at James' hands firmly gripping her shoulders.

"What… Malfoy, you… why?" Lily finally found her voice, looking at the Greg's motionless form on the floor.

"Listen, Potter, if I were you, I wouldn't close my eyes, just so I could see who was going to kiss me. And whether they were really going to kiss me, for that matter," Scorpius could not contain his sarcasm. He waved his wand: "Incarcero!"

"Malfoy!" Lily cried out, trying to kneel next to Gregory, whose body was now bound by ropes. James wouldn't let her.

"Don't scream, Potter, or do you wish to draw a crowd here?" Malfoy hissed, bending over the still and now disabled body.

"James," Lily turned toward her brother as far as his grip on her shoulders allowed it, "James, why did you stupefy Greg? He… he simply wanted to…"

"Lil, this is not Gregory," James loosened his grip a little.

"What?" the girl turned around to make sure that the man lying on the floor at her feet was indeed the Slytherin. "James, what made you think that?"

"Malfoy said so," her brother answered simply, the expression on his face confirming his unwavering confidence in his friend's words.

"Are you mental? Did you have too much to drink?" Lily looked at both chaps and Xenia as if they had gone insane. "Look, it is him…"

"Potter, shut it. Please," said Scorpius, his patience almost at an end. He pulled off Greg's scarf and pulled apart his shirt collar.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Lily was watching the Slytherin's actions in astonishment. "Will you stop? This is not funny anymore!"

"It never was funny!" Malfoy snorted, looking closely at something. His usually pale face blanched even more. "Don't worry, Potter; I like girls, so I will not offend your innocent sensibilities by any lewd actions toward this…"

"Malfoy, either you bring him round or I… Let me go already!" Lily growled at her brother, but he didn't even stir, watching his friend intently.

"Another word – and I will put the _Silencio_ spell on you!"

"Scorpius…" Xenia spoke at last. "What is going on?"

"The Polyjuice Potion," the Slytherin said flatly, getting up, his eyes on Lily Potter. "Ever heard of it?"

"Of course…" the girl answered, taken aback, reeling from shock, "But where… What made you think that?"

"Unlike some other people, _I_ keep my eyes opened," Malfoy pointed at the sloppy knot in Greg's tie, and an untied shoelace on his shoe. "I have never seen Gregory show up anywhere like this. It goes against the grain."

"An accident…" Lilly whispered weakly, still seemingly in shock from the events.

"No. Greg would never allow such an accident. I have known him for years," Malfoy shook his head. His expression grave in the extreme, he was looking at James over his sister's head. "When I saw him return from the bathroom, I knew instantly that something was wrong. And then he sat down at the table and picked up a spoon. With his right hand. Gregory is left-handed. That was when I signaled to you."

James nodded, pressing his sister closer to him, as she tried to break free.

"The Polyjuice Potion transitions the muscle memory from the person who is being impersonated! Characteristic gestures, strabismus, the wand hand! If it were that potion, as you say it was, the person impersonating Greg would have been left-handed!"

"Good for you, Potter, now we know that you have read your Fourth Year Potions textbook," Malfoy nodded, directing his silvery gaze at Lily. "However, there is also the textbook for the Seventh Years, which has an appendix. The Polyjuice Potion, like many others, does not work one hundred percent on two species of wizards…"

"Vampires and werewolves," James finished mechanically. He also blanched.

"'Outstanding' for you, Potter, I shall tell Slughorn," Scorpius said mockingly, although he was feeling anything but amusement. "Therefore, this is a werewolf before us. In the form of Gregory. A werewolf, who just a few minutes ago attempted to get our dear prefect alone with the intent of – well, as you must have figured out by now – not quite kissing her."

"How do you know that he is… a werewolf?" asked Lily in a weak voice, gripping her brother's arms that were embracing her. Malfoy feared only one thing – a fit of hysterics. However, only the signs of shock were apparent in her at this point.

"A less-than-one-hundred-percent effect of the Polyjuice Potion manifests itself not only in incomplete transition of reflexes, but also in something else," the Slytherin squatted before the bound body, once again spreading apart the shirt collar, and pointing at two barely noticeable marks on the shoulder. It was as if the real skin showed through the borrowed one. "The bite mark. A werewolf's bite, I'd wager."

Xenia walked over and squatted next to Malfoy, also inspecting the prisoner's shoulder. Then she nodded and rose. She bit her lip, looking frightened:

"He is a werewolf. But it is not a full moon now, not even nighttime! And he wanted…"

"Yes, he was definitely intending to take a bite out of our prefect's neck."

"It is impossible…" almost whispered Lily, paling even more. "He is not a vampire."

"Yes, this is a mystery," Malfoy nodded, also getting up. "And another question is: why? Suppose he wanted to bite someone. Well, go grab the first person in the street and chew away to glory. But no," the Slytherin was thinking aloud, "he had to incapacitate Gregory somehow, drink the Potion, and lead you away, Potter. _You_ and none other."

Dead silence ensued.

"I am going to go find Greg," Xenia said finally, taking out her wand and walking toward the door. "He might need help."

James and Malfoy watched her leave. James whispered: "Be careful."

"We have to go see McGonagall," said the Gryffindor firmly, still keeping hold on his sister, who once again seemed at a loss for words. Malfoy nodded, understanding that this was not the case they could handle on their own. A werewolf tried to bite a girl in broad daylight. And not any random girl. It looked like a well thought-out plan. Well, not _very_ well thought-out, given that someone had neglected to read the Seventh Year Potions textbook.

"What are we going to do with _this_?" Scorpius kicked the insensate body on the floor, his eyes narrowed in disdain, "We have to transport him to the castle somehow."

"Shall we Apparate?" James was stroking his sister's back in a calming gesture.

"We can. Xenia will help."

The Slytherin girl walked in just then and closed the door behind her.

"He is in the men's bathroom, knocked out. And not by a spell, either. He was hit on the back of his head with something heavy."

"They don't believe in being subtle," Malfoy grimaced, twirling his wand.

"I healed the wound; I think he will come to soon."

"Fine, then he will have to get back to the castle on his own; I don't think anyone will miss him any time soon," Malfoy leaned over the captive. "Xenia, you will help Potter to Apparate; he just needs some direction…"

"I can do the explanations myself," the Gryffindor grumbled, stepping away from Lily. "How are you?"

She merely nodded, avoiding looking at the man before whom Scorpius was kneeling.

"Potter, where is the Invisibility Cloak that we bought at Zonko's?" James took the bundle from of his robes and tossed it to his friend. "It won't work for long, but even fifteen minutes should be enough. The plan is: you will come out the back door, with me levitating _this_ behind you, covered with the cloak to avoid attracting attention. We will then Apparate to the Hogwarts gates."

James and Xenia nodded. The Gryffindor took his sister's hand and they cautiously left the closet. Malfoy uttered "Locomotor", lifting the pseudo-Gregory above the floor; covered him with the cloak, holding on to it so as not to lose track of the captive; and walked, maneuvering the body down the hall, toward the back door.

Nobody saw them. The cold wind made Malfoy shiver when he walked out into the back yard. Xenia and the Potters were standing there already, looking around them.

"Potter, give me your hand," Malfoy looked straight at Lily. She shrank back in alarm. "Come on, I don't believe they teach Fifth Years how to Apparate. Xenia will not be able to handle the two of you. Hurry!"

James pushed his sister toward his friend and grabbed the Slytherin girl's hand. Malfoy sighed deeply, grabbed the rigid wrist of the captive with one hand, and pulled Lily Potter to him with the other. He saw his friends disappear from the backyard and turned on the spot, pulling Lily and the werewolf along with him into the tight and rubbery darkness.

In a moment he could breathe freely, but did not dare to let go of either of his charges: the captive – because he was still invisible and Potter – because her shock appeared to be wearing off, but a fit of hysterics appeared to be coming on. What else could be expected of a girl who had been sheltered and cherished throughout her childhood, whose life had never been threatened?! (The threat to her father's life when the prefect was not even a twinkle in her future parents' eyes did not count). And voila! – instead of the first kiss (Malfoy was sure that it would have been a first), she almost became dessert for a mutant werewolf. It was a small wonder that she hung on as long as she had.

Xenia and James were looked at Scorpius expectantly, while he tried to think what to do next.

"Here, Potter, you take this freak of nature," Malfoy handed his friend the invisible hand of the floating werewolf. "And go ahead to McGonagall's and tell her the whole story."

"What about you?"

"I need to explain something to your sister," Malfoy answered angrily, not looking at Lily.

"How are we going to get to McGonagall? We don't know the password," James remarked. He did not ask what Malfoy wanted to explain to Lily. He understood that, whatever it was, it was necessary.

"The password is 'Percival'", the Gryffindor girl said with effort. Everyone turned to stare at her. "At least it was. On Tuesday. At the meeting. For the prefects."

James nodded, looked at his sister in concern, and then he and Xenia walked slowly through the gate and toward the castle. Malfoy let them gain some distance, and then started walking in the same direction, tugging Lily along, as if he had finally made up his mind about something.

He felt the tremors beginning to shake the Gryffindor girl's frame; her hand was icy-cold and her eyes strangely unfocused. She was tense and pale. It wouldn't do at all for her to go to pieces in the middle of the yard. Malfoy practically dragged her up the stairs, into the Entrance Hall, down the hallway, and up the stairs again. Her shaking was more pronounced now. They needed a private space, but where? All classrooms were locked for the weekend. Finally, Malfoy came across an unlocked office, not far from the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmistress' study, pushed Lily in and closed the door behind them.

Malfoy knew that a fit of feminine hysterics caused by shock could only be treated with another shock. He had a choice: to slap her or distract her. "Gentlemen don't hit women," the Slytherin reminded himself, looking at Lily lean against the wall for support. She was trying to hold herself together. Oh, no, tears. _Hate that._

Malfoy made a split-second decision, taking a step toward the girl. She looked up at him with eyes full of tears, fright and real fear.

"Wh… what?"

"I owe you something."

"Hmm?"

"A kiss," Malfoy was waiting for any kind of a response, even a slap – fine, he'd handle it.

"Wh… what?" fear in her voice. A tear hang on the long eye-lashes.

"I robbed you of a kiss today. Now I have to give back what I stole."

"But…"

The Slytherin leaned forward abruptly, not letting their bodies touch, and moved his mouth over her trembling lips, as if probing. She flinched but did not move away.

Now was the time for the heavy artillery.

The youth jerked his hand up to the back of her head and drew her to him, trying to evoke a response. He softly pressed his tongue against her closed lips. She froze, trembling. Damn. He gently bit her lip. She jerked back, opening her mouth for an instant in protest. _There, now I've got you!_ His tongue slid between her teeth and over her tongue. She started, but was still very much like a statue. Malfoy pressed her to him with his second hand, while continuing to burn her lips with the bold kisses.

And she gave in. She relaxed and put her only slightly trembling hands on his shoulders. Malfoy, inwardly praising himself, softly drew back.

"Enough. For the first time," He enveloped the girl in the molten silver of his gaze.

"McGonagall is calling for you," Xenia was standing in the doorway. She had obviously been standing there for some time, but she did not comment. "Directly."

Malfoy nodded, grabbed Lily's hand in the now customary gesture, and tugged her along. He noted with satisfaction that she was no longer shaking, looked more relaxed, and her cheeks had colour. The tears no longer threatened to spill out of her frightened eyes.

Scorpius had never been in the Headmistress' study before. He and James never took their mischief so far as to be summoned to an audience with McGonagall.

The first thing that caught his eye was the portraits. Many animated portraits of elderly men and women.

"Sit down," McGonagall said sternly to the newcomers, pointing to the chairs by her desk. She and Professor Faust were standing by the cot, leaning over the werewolf.

Malfoy let go of Lily's hand – both girls sat down promptly – and stepped toward James who was standing by the back wall… talking to a portrait. It was a portrait of a tall wizard with half-moon glasses straddling the crooked nose and long silver hair and beard.

"…He hasn't been here in a few years," Malfoy caught the calm, even kindly voice of Albus Dumbledore.

"He is all right, Professor," Potter answered somewhat timidly. Apparently, it was new to him – to speak with a Headmaster's portrait. And not just any Headmaster, but the mentor – the Teacher – of his father's.

"And how is Albus Severus Potter?" Malfoy marked a trace of merriment in the Headmaster's voice. A right good-natured old man, he seemed.

"He is alright. He will be going to Hogwarts in four years," James smiled," That is, if he does not blow up the house, glowering, when he does not get his chocolate."

"Did you hear that, Severus?" Dumbledore suddenly stepped over into the next portrait and Malfoy saw its inhabitant: long black hair, yellowish skin, a black robe, and a calm disdain for everything and everyone in his face, "our namesake is not that simple if he is capable of that kind of magic already. And I bet he likes lemon drops. It's a sort of candy, you know…"

"I am insanely delighted, Professor," the black-haired man said through clenched teeth. Not an ounce of enthusiasm showed in his voice. "It was always my dream for someone to blow up Potter's house. I suppose the boy does not bear my name for nothing."

Malfoy was ready to chuckle, despite the gravity of the moment. McGonagall and Faust were whispering agitatedly behind his back. However, Professor Severus Snape – for who else could have pronounced Potter's name as if spitting it out – gave the Slytherin a stern look, and Scorpius settled for a polite nod.

"And this must be the young Mr. Malfoy, isn't it?" Dumbledore bestowed his kindly smile on Scorpius as well. James looked around and winked at his friend, which made Malfoy want to chuckle still more. "I see that the unfathomable became possible."

Malfoy raised a blond eye-brow, but at that moment they were summoned by McGonagall, as she approached Lily with a vial.

"Drink this, Ms. Potter. It is a soothing potion. And you two, tell us once again what happened and how," the Headmistress said sternly, looking at the young men.

Malfoy and James, hurriedly, filling in for each other, related the events one more time. Faust also came over, leaving the bound werewolf on the cot, still unconscious. Malfoy cast a quick glance in that direction and noticed that the captive no longer looked like Greg Gregory, but had the appearance of a pale and thin boy of about sixteen. _Now, that is really interesting._

"Professor Faust, we have to inform Harry Potter about what happened," McGonagall looked seriously worried.

"Oh!" Lily cried out. She was staring at the werewolf.

"What is it?" James hurried to her side. "What?"

"I saw him. In the park. When we… Greg and I were sitting there," Lily lifted her frightened face to James'. "I saw him."

"Professor Faust, hurry, please," McGonagall reminded the head of Gryffindor House. "Try locating him through the Ministry."

The Head of Gryffindor nodded and entered the big fireplace. In a moment he disappeared in a whirl of green flames. Malfoy sat down on a vacant chair and relaxed. He felt tired.

Everyone was silent, waiting, looking anywhere but at the bound teenager.

Malfoy soon caught James' eye who was pointing at Snape's portrait. The neighboring portrait – that of Dubledore's – was vacant. Snape, however, his arms folded, was staring directly at Lily Potter. And the eyes of the former Hogwarts Headmaster expressed disdain mixed with tenderness.

About twenty minutes passed. Nobody was speaking, mulling over what had happened. The twilight gathered outside. McGonagall sat at her desk, occasionally glancing at the fireplace. Lily leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Yes, the girl had been through a lot. _The first attempt on your life is a lot to take in_, Malfoy thought.

Finally, Faust stepped out of the fireplace and everyone perked up. The face of the Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts was impassive, but Malfoy noticed that his long fingers with rings on them trembled slightly.

Faust immediately started whispering in McGonagall's ear, glancing at the students sitting in a semicircle. Scorpius who was the closest to the Headmistress' desk strained his ears, but could only overhear fragments of the story: "Mungo's… Harry Potter's wife… lured… Weasley."

McGonagall was growing paler with each word she heard. James rose in alarm.

"Professor McGonagall…"

Green flames blazed in the fireplace. Three grim-faced men in Ministry robes stepped out of it one after the other. One of them nodded at those present and asked briskly: "The 'Three Broomsticks'?" and after McGonagall nodded in assent, immediately disappeared again.

The second Auror – as he appeared to be just that – walked over to the cot, lifted the captive with a wave of his wand, and also vanished. He didn't even nod at anyone. The third, however – stocky and smelling of cigarettes – stayed, walked over to McGonagall, and began to speak. Malfoy was becoming irritated.

"So," the Headmistress turned toward the students, her palms resting on the desk, "you will go to an empty office, where Mr. Zig will question you. Mr. Potter, Ms. Potter, do not go anywhere afterwards, I will need to speak with you… possibly. Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Verdi, you may return to your common room after speaking with Mr. Zig."

The young people nodded, rose in unison, and walked toward the door, accompanied by Faust and the Auror, silent and grim-faced. Malfoy, who was the last to walk out, looked back and caught a piteous look on McGonagall's face, the green flames, and Hermione Weasley coming out of the fireplace. Then the door slammed shut behind his back.


	22. Part II - Chapter 6 - Hermione Weasley

Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley.

She had been in the Hogwarts Headmistress' study only once – the day of Voldemort's demise. She was overwhelmed with different emotions then, but one was uppermost – the wave of happiness at their victory! His victory!

But today, stepping out of Minerva McGonagall's filreplace, Hermione was not feeling anything. Because she forbid herself to feel. The emptiness inside was the only way she could get herself to go on living now. To allow herself to feel meant to descend into the abyss of such overwhelming grief that there would be no way to emerge from it. And _that_ she could not allow herself to do. She could not – for the sake of those who needed her now. Needed _her_ – the strong, the reasonable, the decisive Hermione Weasley.

Lily. Hugo. Rose. James.

"Have a seat," Minerva McGonagall said anxiously, walking around her desk with an inviting gesture toward her visitor. It was unlikely that anyone had ever seen such a mix of compassion, pity, care, regard, and anxiety in the Headmistress' usually austere face. "Would you like some tea?"

Hermione shook her head, lowering herself nervelessly into the chair. She needed to collect herself, to think rationally, to make an effort and begin speaking. But the words would not come. Because inside her was emptiness. And to speak meant to remember, and to remember – to let in the tidal wave of pain and despair.

"There has been a tragedy," Hermione finally managed, looking at her hands clasped in her lap. _The facts, only the facts, maybe this will be easier._ "Ginny Potter is dead. She was murdered. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter are at St. Mungo's. Both are in critical condition."

There, she said it. And the world did not turn inside out, and she was still alive somehow, still breathing, although she should have died at the mere thought of losing one person she loved and possibly losing two more shortly. The people closest to her; dearest to her; the most beloved.

The Headmistress blinked and staggered back a little, as if someone shoved her. He gaze flew to the portrait of Albus Dumbledore who was listening closely to Hermione. Then Minerva McGonagall slowly closed her eyes, as if summoning her strength or simply refusing to believe that her best students, the heroes of her House were once again drawn into a deadly game; that they were once again in grave danger. Again, death. Again, suffering of The Boy Who Lived. _Will it ever end?_

"What can I do?" McGonagall asked softly, touching the shoulder of her once favorite student.

"Harry's children are in danger. They may become the next victims," Hermione's words came out as though uttered by a robot.

McGonagall merely nodded, deciding that now was not the time to relate the recent events at the school.

"They will be safe here. I will make sure of that."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force back the memories.

"I wanted to ask you… May I bring Albus here? So that he also is… Right now no one can…"

"Yes, we'll have him," the Headmistress nodded at once.

"He will feel better with Lily and James close by. Until Harry is…" Hermione couldn't keep her voice from breaking. She gulped. She had to go on. She had to speak.

"Can you tell me about the danger they are in?"

Hermione nodded, but didn't look up, her face hidden by the mane of unruly hair.

How to begin? What was it that crestfallen Kingsley told her a few hours ago when she came to him? She demanded the truth because her husband and best friend were both at death's door, and Ginny was dead.

The memories caught up with her after all. In her mind's eye she saw the face of the owner of a bar on Diagon Alley who came to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a bizarre story. At that point Hermione understood only one thing – something had happened to Harry. She and the emergency team Apparated to the bar at once and soon heard the screams. They rushed to the back alley. Did they arrive in time? Yes, they did, because they managed to save the torn-up Harry from the werewolf who was clawing at him. Yes, they did, because Ron did not bleed to death, lying next to the other beast, already knocked out by one of the victims. And no, they were too late, because Ginny was beyond help. They were too late, because one of the attackers – the only one in human form – had escaped. What they encountered was only the dark alley with six bodies; and the blood; blood everywhere; Ginny's; Ron's; Harry's.

"Many years ago a species of werewolves was created who did not depend on the lunar cycle for transformation and were controlled by wizards," Hermione began speaking, repeating, almost word for word, the story that Harry told his godson at the "Heloise's". The words flowed out of her and dissolved in the silence of the study. The raid; the boy, shielded from death by his mother; the hood that slipped off Harry Potter's head; the escape; blood. "It was an ambush. Since they escaped from Azkaban, their ranks swelled with their victims. Nobody knows how many wizards have become werewolves in the last few days. There were four of them in the alley where Ginny was lured."

"What… lured?" Minerva McGonagall forced out, and her pale lips tightened.

"One of them drank the Polyjuice Potion. He assumed Harry's image." It was so hard to speak of it. "Apparently, they did not expect Ron to accompany her, but Albus not to. In the fake letter from Harry they asked her to bring the boy." Hermione remembered that she left that letter with Kingsley after finding it in Harry's bloody robes. "Ron must have suspected a trap, and ran to help. Then Harry showed up – the werewolves did not count on that. Then we arrived: Harry had managed to ask the bar owner to alert the Ministry."

McGonagall was clearly at a loss for words. Hermione fell silent, unable to speak anymore. She couldn't talk of begging the unconscious Harry not to die; of trying to stop the bleeding; of dashing from her husband to her friend and back; of how terrifying it was to see Ron's bites, Harry's claw-flayed chest, Ginny's neck, bitten in two.

And then she was at St. Mungo's, where they gave her potions, consoled her, said useless words, asked her to leave and not hamper the Healers' work; at Kingsley's austere office – the Auror did not even try to resist her interrogation. He must have understood that she was now the only one able to take responsibility for the safety of the Potter children.

Silence fell again. Then McGonagall stood up and walked to the fireplace. She threw in a pinch of Floo powder and called out quietly:

"Horace!" Horace Slughorn responded in a few seconds. "Please, I need more soothing potion."

"Did anything happen?"

"Now, Horace," McGonagall repeated sternly. A hand holding a vial appeared amidst the flames. The Headmistress thanked the Potions professor and ended the connection. She put a few drops in a blue cup, poured in the water, and handed it to Hermione. The woman shook her head. "Hermione, drink this. You have to be strong because you will have to summon the strength somehow and tell the Potters of this. I think that it would be wrong for them to find out from others or, Merlin save us, from the newspapers."

Hermione nodded obediently, took the cup and emptied it. She sighed convulsively, then looked up, and met the kind, compassionate gaze of her former teacher. And Hermione burst into tears – for the first time that day. McGonagall stepped forward and hugged the crying woman to her, tenderly stroking her hair.

The portraits were looking at them from the walls, and tears streamed down Albus Dumbledore's cheeks. He soon turned around and left, leaving behind the empty frame. Minerva understood that the Headmaster went to his portrait at the Ministry in order to find out everything he could; so that he could once again help his favorite student – help him survive and live. Strange as it was, Severus Snape followed him.

About five minutes passed before Hermione was able to speak. She straightened away from McGonagall's warm embrace, poured herself more potion, drank it, wiped her eyes, and sighed deeply, regaining control of herself. She needed to stop feeling. Because she did not have the right to feel. At least, not while in there.

"While Harry is in the hospital," Hermione said firmly, "I would like for his and my children to remain here constantly; because here, at Hogwarts, they are safe. I know that they will want to get to the hospital…"

"Do not worry, they will be at school."

"All right," Hermione turned away. "I think it is time to send for the children," she said in a muted voice, avoiding the Headmistress' gaze. "If possible, have my children come as well. I am not sure that I can say it twice."

McGonagall nodded and left. Hermione remained alone in the empty study. _Do not think, do not feel_, she repeated it to herself as an incantation.

Long ten minutes passed. Then the door opened, and Lily and James walked in, confused. Rose and Hugo followed them.

"Mum…"

Hermione shook her head, unable as yet to speak. She waited for the children to sit down and only then lifted her eyes to meet the anxious gazes of Harry's children. _Do not feel. Do not think._ How hard it was.


	23. Part II - Chapter 7 - Teddy Remus Lupin

**_Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin._**

Ted found out what had happened a few hours later. He came to his favorite bar, as usual, to grab some lunch, and found the doors locked. The owner, upon recognizing her visitor, came out and told him in whispers of what happened to Harry Potter and his family.

Shock. This was the first emotion that the young man felt. He had never lost anyone in his life. He never knew his parents and, therefore, never felt sadness at his orphaned state. But the news that his godfather – a friend and a father figure – was at death's door; that beloved by all Ginny Potter was dead, and that Ron Weasley might not survive either – all that plunged Lupin in desperate sadness for the first few minutes.

Shock was soon replaced by the desire to act. Judging from everything that had happened, the Potters were in danger. There were children who lost their mother. There was Harry, who was suffering in the hospital ward right at that very moment (Ted refused to accept the possibility that his godfather would follow after his wife). There was Mr. Weasley who lost his only daughter. And, finally, there was Hermione who now had to shoulder so much grief and such an awesome responsibility.

The foyer of the St. Mungo's Hospital was crowded with reporters and gapers. The security guards, Aurors, and Healers were trying to get rid of them. Lupin was also refused entry at first, but after he introduced himself, he was allowed through and directed to the second floor. In the white hallway several grim-faced Aurors stood along the walls, tense-faced Healers were flashing back and forth, and, a little to the side, Hermione Granger, her head bowed, sat in a chair.

"Hey," Lupin gently touched her shoulder and sat down next to her. Hermione turned toward him. Pale face, tightly pressed lips, trembling hands. There were no tears, but the look in her eyes where hope warred with terror finally made Lupin believe that this was real. "What do the Healers say?"

Hermione looked morosely at the door of the room that was guarded by an Auror with his wand at the ready. Harry must be in there, Lupin realized. He was being guarded. Healers constantly went in and out of the room, exchanging comments and recommendations in muted tones.

"He lost a lot of blood. Deep lacerations. They are trying to heal them now. Deep magical coma," said Hermione almost in a whisper, without taking her eyes off the door. "They are constantly giving him blood coagulating and replenishing potions."

"How is Ron?" Lupin gently held the woman's hand in a comforting gesture. In his mind, he wouldn't allow even a possibility of Harry dying. It simply was not imaginable – not after everything his godfather had been through already. However, there was a possibility that he would become… _No, later, this is not important now._

"He was bitten," Hermione's voice broke. "He also lost a lot of blood, a huge amount of blood. Several ribs and his collarbone are broken. He resisted. Harry wasn't bitten."

Lupin held back a sigh of relief. So, Harry got lucky again. Or did he? Was this part of the vengeful plan – to make his godfather suffer, not for himself, but for his loved ones? Teddy did not doubt that the goal of all this had been revenge - too many coincidences. How was Harry going to live through this?

"I have to go," said Hermione without moving. "I have to stop by Kingsley's and then go to Hogwarts."

"How can I help?"

"Let's see… Charlie was supposed to bring Albus to Mr. Weasley's. Go there, help them. Mr. Weasley said that he would take care of telling him." Hermione stood up resolutely, pulling herself together. How much strength must she have to bear up like that, to be taking care of things, to be thinking about others, when her loved ones' lives were hanging in the balance?

"All right, I'll go there at once."

Hermione nodded at Ted, pressing his hand lightly.

"Stay with the boy. In all likelihood, I will pick him up in the evening. I want him to be at Hogwarts. For now."

"Yes, that will be best. It is safe there." Lupin curved his lips to form an encouraging smile, but it didn't quite work. Hermione headed quickly down the hall. Only drooping shoulders betrayed her true condition. Lupin admired this woman. It was difficult even for him not to show his feelings.

Staying in the hospital, as the Healers informed him, was useless, because no one was allowed to visit the victims, and no updates were given on their condition. And so Lupin went to _The Burrow_.

He Apparated to the gate, but even from a distance it was apparent to him that something was amiss inside the house. He ran across the yard and into the open kitchen door.

He saw Albus standing in the middle of the living room, his hands balled into fists. Tears were streaming down his cheeks; his mouth was twisted; his glasses slid down his nose. All around him glass was breaking, things fell off tables, and Teddy heard a teacup crack in the kitchen. Arthur Weasley stood pressed against the wall, apparently afraid to approach the boy. Albus' grandfather was pale and did not take his eyes off his raving grandson.

"Don't come near him," Arthur warned, seeing Lupin take a step toward Albus. "I tried, but it only made matters worse."

Ted observed the destruction of _The Burrow_'s living room, not sure what to do. _If the boy is not stopped, the ceiling will collapse soon._ Lupin decided to take a chance, whatever the outcome. He reached Albus in one leap and grabbed him in his arms – a window pane shattered.

"No! No! No!" the younger Potter screamed, struggling. Books rained down from the shelves. "Let me go! No!"

Lupin paid no heed to the boy's screaming, the painful thrashing of his fists and feet or the household items launched into the air by Albus' uncontrollable grief and rage. He simply ran out of the house with Albus in his arms and stopped only when he was deep in the garden. _Let the gnomes fly around; they are used to it._

Teddy put Albus down and stepped back. The boy continued to rage, stomping his feet and screaming:

"I don't want this! No! It's a lie! You are all lying!"

"Al… Al, listen. Be quiet, I said!" Lupin ordered the boy sharply and – miraculously – Albus fell silent and looked straight at his father's godson. His green eyes were full of tears; and of hope that everything he had been told would indeed turn out to be a lie. Teddy stepped toward the boy and hugged him, trying to prevent another tantrum. "Shhh, little one, shhh."

"It is true then?" Albus breathed in Ted's ear. Teddy never lied to him. Teddy always played with the youngest Potter, brought him candy, and did not make fun of him like his brother and sister did. Teddy was kind and warm. His eyes were kind too. Albus trusted this grown-up. "So, Mummy… Mummy's really…? But why? Why did she leave? Why did she leave me?"

Lupin nodded, his palms still on the boy's fragile shoulders:

"Albus, listen to me. Listen carefully. You are a big boy now, so you have to be able to understand. Your mummy did not want to leave, she loved you very much. Very, very much. However, there are things in life that are outside our control. It was always your mummy's dream to be with you forever. And she will always be with you. True, she won't be able to come and kiss you goodnight. But she will be by your side, like an angel. Mummy will be with you in your heart, here."

Lupin put his hand against the boy's chest – right where the child's wounded heart was beating.

"She will be coming to you in your sleep, if you wish it very hard," Lupin promised, knowing it to be true, from his own experience. As a child, he often dreamed of his mother, as he remembered her from countless photographs; and of his father. "Your mother will guard you and love you. She will always love you. Do you believe me?"

Albus nodded – he wanted to believe. Tears were still streaming from his, now so sad, eyes.

"Why hasn't Daddy come?"

"Your Daddy is ill, Al," Lupin sat down on the grass and drew Albus in his lap. "He is very ill, but when they let us, we will visit him in the hospital. He will be glad to see you."

"I know," the boy nodded seriously, his head on Teddy's shoulder, "He will stay with me, won't he? He won't leave like Mummy?"

"No, he will stay with you. He loves you," said Ted with with conviction, leaning against a tree trunk. Albus nodded again and fell silent. He was no longer crying. They sat in the garden, looking at the dusk gathering. It started to rain. Lupin took out his wand and conjured a tent over their heads. He did not want to leave. _Let Al sit here, as long as he is feeling safe, and is not crying and raging. He is little, but already so strong. It must be Potters' genes._

Arthur came, his hair even grayer than it was the day before, dark circles around his eyes. He sat down without a word.

"He is asleep," said Mr. Weasley a little later, nodding at his grandson. Lupin got up, still holding the boy, and they went in the house.

The younger Weasleys sat at the kitchen table in dead silence. Fleur was crying silently on Bill's shoulder; Charlie was clutching a steaming cup in his burn-covered hands; Percy was sobbing in the corner, mopping his eyes behind the horn-rimmed glasses.

"George and Angelina went to the hospital to see if there was any news. They hardly let anyone in now," Charlie reported hoarsely when Lupin returned to the kitchen, leaving Albus asleep in the living room, covered with a blanket. His grandfather volunteered to stay with him.

"Hermione hasn't shown up, has she?" Ted took an empty seat, and folded his hands in his lap. Bill shook his head. "I saw her in the hospital. She was going to go to Hogwarts."

The Weasleys were quiet. They knew that Hermione had taken up the hardest task.

"Lupin, are they in danger?" Charlie looked up at Harry's godson. The Weasleys knew that there were almost no secrets between Ted and the elder Potter. "Had he told you?"

Teddy merely nodded, but he didn't say anything out loud. This was Harry's secret, and Lupin was not at liberty to divulge it, even now. Silence fell again, only occasionally broken by Fleur's sobs and Percy blowing his nose. The clock was silent also: Ginny's hand forever froze between "Home" and "Mortal Peril", next to Fred's hand. Ron's hand pointed at "Mortal Peril". So, there was hope for him yet.

Hermione entered the house. She was soaking wet and her eyes were red from all the crying. All eyes turned toward her.

"Both are stable, in critical condition. Ron regained consciousness for a short while; Harry is in a coma."

"How are the children?"

Hermione gave Lupin a haunted look, as though saying: "What do you think?" She must have run out of words at this point.

"How is Albus?"

"Asleep," Teddy nodded in the direction of the living room. "Arthur is with him."

"All right," Hermione stood up. "McGonagall allowed me to bring him in. It will be better for him there, with Lily and James. Ted, may I see you alone for a minute?"

The came out into the rain.

"I spoke to Kingsley. Has Harry told you about the werewolves?" the woman looked Lupin straight in the eye. He merely closed his eyes slowly. "You know everything then. That's good. Kingsley told me a little bit about what happened today. Practically at the same time as…"

"What?" Lupin asked, frightened by the pallor that came over Hermione's face.

"Lily was attacked by a werewolf as well. In Hogsmead."

"Merlin, no!"

"Shhh," Hermione rushed to soothe the young man. "Help arrived in time. But the approach was the same – the Polyjuice Potion and an attempt to bite. The werewolf was apprehended and is being held by the Aurors."

"It's revenge then," Teddy said sadly, looking down at his mud-covered shoes. "Will there be a security detail assigned to them?"

Hermione nodded.

"The Aurors have already been dispatched to Hogwarts, and the investigation is going on in Hogsmead."

"Wow, what a day…," Lupin said slowly.

"Yeah… Well, I ought to be going to Hogwarts and then to the hospital."

Hermione went back in the house and walked over to where Albus lay sleeping. She stood and looked down at the boy with only one thought in her head – _Harry_. That thought immediately brought on the thought of Ron.

As if sensing her gaze, Al opened his eyes.

"Al, darling, get up," Hermione tenderly stroked his hair. "I shall take you to Hogwarts, to be with Lily and James. You will stay there until your father recovers."

The boy nodded, sat up and pushed away the blanket. His eyes were sad, his face – sorrowful. Never before had Hermione seen even a shadow of that look on the face of this carefree, clumsy little boy. Her heart contracted painfully at the thought.

Lupin saw Hermione and Albus off – they decided to use the Floo network. He then said goodbye to the Weasleys and Apparated to the hospital to sit in the faceless white hallway outside the room where the battle was being waged for his godfather's life. The coming night was going to be the hardest one yet; the longest one.


	24. Part II - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Chapter 8. The Potters.**_

Malfoy sat on the window sill in the hallway leading to the Hogwarts Headmistress' study. Xenia stood next to him. They hadn't spoken since they decided to wait for the Gryffindors. Of course, they were subtly prompted to go to the Slytherin common room, but after they saw the Weasleys heading for McGonagall's study after the Potters, their mutual decision was to wait.

Twilight gathered outside the windows; the first drops of autumn rain began beating against the glass. Students started gathering in the Great Hall for dinner. The two Slytherins had been waiting for about fifteen minutes.

"Scorpius," Xenia said quietly, pointing at the window and pulling her robe tighter against the chilly draft.

Malfoy turned around – his father's owl was peering at him from behind the window. _When it rains…_ The Slytherin opened the window and took the sealed, slightly damp scroll off the wet bird's foot. Feeling apprehensive, Malfoy opened the scroll under Xenia's scrutinizing gaze.

"May I?" the girl leaned over his arm and together they read Draco Malfoy's letter:

_"Scorpius. I just received news of Harry Potter having been attacked, his wife murdered, and both Weasley and Potter being held in St. Mungo's. Minding your close association with J. Potter, I am warning you: don't get mixed up in anything. Keep away from this family. I want you to pick up a quill right now and send me your written promise to do as I say. Otherwise, I will come and take you home within twenty four hours. I have no intention of losing my only son just because this damned Potter once again got himself in pickle. Your father, Draco Malfoy."_

Xenia looked at Scorpius. He stolidly slammed the window shut, almost smashing the Malfoys' owl, crumpled the letter and threw it into the waste basket in the corner.

"What is going to happen now?…" Xenia whispered. Apparently, to her, as to Malfoy, the only part of the letter that mattered was the one concerning James' parents.

They looked at each other, knowing now what was being said in McGonagall's study. Silence was suddenly broken by the sound of quick footsteps. James Potter, absolutely white in the face, was running down the hallway, apparently oblivious to anything and anyone around him.

The Slytherins exchanged glances again. Malfoy jumped off the window sill and dashed after his friend.

James ran blindly, simply for the sake of doing something other than listening to and looking at Hermione.

_Mum…Mummy…How can it be?!_

He dashed out of the castle, almost knocking down the girls who were ascending the stairs; he did not notice the rain, instantly soaking his hair and clothes; James simply ran to escape. Yet, how could he run away from something that was now part of him?!

He reached the lake shore, fell to his knees under a tree, in the mud – and pounded his fists against the ground until the skin broke. He squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that everything went dark. The same way as he felt when Hermione voiced the terrible truth that has now become part of his soul; his family; his life.

Malfoy watched James rave on the lake shore, drenched and broken. The Slytherin was at a loss. What should he do? What should he say? He knew how to crack jokes, horse around, mock, and rally. This was part of the image and the defense mechanism he had adopted a long time ago. Yet, it did not fit this situation. He didn't know what to do when his friend's heart was breaking.

Scorpius walked over to James. The Gryffindor had stopped with the self-mutilation, covered his face with his hands, and became still, wracked with silent sobs. Malfoy crouched before him and took him by the shoulders.

"James. Look at me, James."

The Slytherin did not recognize his friend's face, contorted as it was by grief. Tears ran down James' cheeks, mixing with rain and blood seeping from his hands. His soaked shirt clung to his torso, making youth look awfully vulnerable.

What could he say?! Malfoy opted to remain quiet, simply enfolding his friend into a tight embrace.

"Hang in there. You hear me? Just hang in there; I am with you," Scorpius was muttering, not quite sure what else to do. James did not return the hug, but he did not pull away either. He grew still and quiet.

Over Potter's shoulder, Malfoy caught sight of Xenia, beckoning to him.

"I'll be right back," the Slytherin looked anxiously at James, frozen in mourning, and stood up.

"What is it?" Scorpius came up to his cousin, wiping raindrops from his face.

"How is he?" the girl asked anxiously, looking at the Gryffindor's hunched back.

"How do you think?" Malfoy snapped. "I don't know what…"

"Everyone is looking for Lily; she ran off somewhere as well."

"Damn!" Scorpius hissed. "Damn! Will you stay with him?"

Xenia nodded and patted his shoulder:

"Do you know where to look for her?"

Malfoy shrugged. Xenia took a deep breath and walked toward James. Did she know what to say? She did. She knew that no words were needed just yet and that Malfoy, with his hyper-sensitive intuition, had done the only thing that could have given James some support – he held him. And so Xenia also got down next to James, pulled him close and put her arms around him. She stroked his shoulders, his wet hair, and his back, shaking with sobs.

"Cry, my darling, cry. I am here; I shall always be here," she whispered in his ear tenderly, hoping that the words would provide some salve from the pain.

Malfoy quickly crossed the courtyard, and walked down the trail past the Quidditch pitch, toward the Forbidden Forest.

_Has no one thought of looking there?_ Apparently, not. This place would have been an obvious one for someone to look who knew this red-haired girl. The observant Malfoy did, and he headed straight for The Life Memorial as it was known at Hogwarts.

He didn't see anyone from a distance, yet he did not doubt for a moment that Lily Potter was there. Everyone searched for her in the castle, while she was sitting behind her father's statue, leaning against the marble arms, hugging her knees, her face hidden. She was weeping too – not silently, like James, but in horrible, heart-wrenching sobs.

As Malfoy approached Lily, a thousand thoughts zoomed through his head. He thought about how the Potters always presented the united front, supporting one another; yet, in a tragedy, everyone crawled into their own little hole. Why? Not to betray weakness? Not to show pain? Stupid, really, when the pain was one and the same for all of them now.

What could he say to Lily if he could not find words for his best friend? What good was his knack for cracking jokes when a catastrophe had struck her family? How could anyone be of help? And especially he, Scorpius Malfoy?

He was never the one to run away, yet for just a moment he contemplated turning around and heading back to the castle, to bring someone who knew how to console; someone she was close to.

However, Scorpius did take the last few steps that separated him from Lily, sat down close and embraced her, letting her bury her face against his shoulder. She clung to the Slytherin, and he felt hot tears soaking his shirt and jumper.

They sat like that until the night descended upon the Hogwarts castle and grounds. Lily grew quiet, her tears spent, except for an occasional sob. Malfoy absently stroked her hair.

"We have to return to the castle," the Slytherin said quietly. She shook her head vehemently. "We have to, Lily. Come now, pull yourself together. You are strong, you can do it."

Malfoy rose to his feet, pulling the girl with him. He put his arm around her waist to let her know that she was not alone, that he was there for her.

"You are strong, you can do it," Xenia was saying coaxingly to her friend at that very moment, still hugging him tightly. "Your sister and your family need you now."

James nodded. He tried to collect himself, knowing that Xenia was right. Her warm palms and voice warded off the pain, made it less acute. It almost seemed to him for a moment that this was not a girl he barely knew, but his mother, consoling him, like she always had when he was unwell or in pain, sick or anxious. And the reality of that being gone forever, of his mother being gone forever, crashed over James with a renewed force.

"Let's go," Xenia rose to her feet and tugged at his hand. She saw that he was weeping, unable to stop. She understood it. She simply held his hand, letting him know that he was not alone.

They walked toward the castle, ablaze with lights. Students shrank away from them in the hallways as they walked together, wet, muddy, and smeared with James' blood. They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who let them through without the password. The Weasleys sat quietly in the common room – everyone, except Rose and Hugo. They looked up at James; the girls were weeping quietly. None of them showed any reaction to the Slytherin's presence – they merely watched them go.

James pushed open the door to his sister's room. Only three candles were burning here, casting grotesque shadows on the walls, things, and people's faces. Lily got off the bed where she sat with Scorpius, and ran into her brother's arms. They froze in the middle of the room, overcome with grief and dread.

Xenia joined Malfoy on the bed. Grim-faced Rose sat still in the chair, her eyes puffy and red. Hugo sat on the floor by the window, staring off into space.

Scorpius waved his wand and a cot materialized next to the Potters. They sat down. Lily put her head on her brother's shoulder, tears running unchecked down her cheeks.

More than an hour passed in silent vigil when the door opened and Minerva McGonagall entered, Albus Potter, looking lost, holding on to her hand. He saw his brother and sister, pulled free and in the next moment burst into tears in Lily's arms.

"Why?" the boy wailed, gripping his sister's hand, as though it were a lifeline. "Why?"

"Shh, shh, Al," Lily muttered, pressing his slim shaking body closer, and stroking his unruly hair. Poor aggrieved boy, he was feeling so abandoned and, unlike the grown ups, so unable to grasp that which mattered the most to him – how was it that his Mummy was gone?

"Hermione sent word," the Headmistress said quietly, "Harry and Ronald are still in critical condition, but their lives are no longer in any danger."

The Gryffindors nodded in unison, avoiding looking at McGonagall.

"The house elves will bring Albus a cot and something to eat," the Headmistress said kindly. Then she departed, leaving them all together, not even attempting to convince them to eat or rest. What for? They had, perhaps, the most difficult night of their lives ahead of them; the night that would make them all mature because their lives had been affected by a death. And they had to endure this night, without outside help. Only then would all of them – even the little Albus Potter – find the strength to make peace with themselves and move on.

**Well, this concludes Part II. I know that this portion was a tough reading journey, judging by the reviews, because of the unexpected and often sad things that happened to Harry and the others. On the other hand, it seems that at least some readers have identified with the story and even got emotional about it. I am glad you are enjoying it!**

**I cannot promise the rest of the story to be a bed of roses for our heroes, but there definitely are quite a few interesting plot twists and turns coming up, with plenty of growth opportunities for children and adults alike. I mean, of course, the characters. ;)**


	25. Part III - Chapter 1 - James Potter

Part Three. In a Web of Feelings Chapter 1. James Potter.

The days dragged, indistinguishable from one another, filled with pain and worry. The pain because of his mum. The worry for his father. If someone asked him what he'd been doing during these endless five days, he would have easily rattled off the list: he ate when it was time to eat; he slept a little when it was time to sleep; he went to class when wandering the Hogwarts hallways became unbearable; he spent time with Lily and Albus when they needed him; he tried to cheer up Rose and Hugo when the Weasleys got together in the common room in the evenings.

Strange as it seemed, he quickly got used to the thought that his mother was gone. Well… In the last few years, he only ever saw her during school breaks. Now she wouldn't be there for the breaks either. James kept thinking that he had yet to fully feel the pain of the loss.

Today James skipped the class again, although Faust – quite gently, of course – said to him that life was not over and that he had to study. What for? And, especially – how? How could he study? How could he think about anything but possibly losing both of his parents in one week? If all his thoughts were with his father..?

Every day they insisted on going to the hospital, but every time they were told that it was not allowed yet. They would be contacted when visitations would become possible. Anger and frustration, as well as indignation at everyone's lack of understanding – James felt all that, of course, but the feelings were somehow abstract, as though pertaining to made-up events. He simply did not have the energy to respond to everything and so he spent what he had to keep hope alive, help Lily, and take care of Albus.

James wandered the grounds of Hogwarts, far from other students and teachers. He abandoned the idea of sneaking out one of the secret passages and visiting his father at the hospital. It would have been stupid and wrong – as Hermione had said, they were all in danger. Despite his usual devil-may-care attitude, James didn't want anything else happen to his family. Especially considering how it would affect the already haggard Lily who barely slept these days, much as she tried to conceal it from everyone; or Albus, who had just begun to liven up again. He was only a boy and, finding himself at the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, fell under the spell of its magic, miracles, and mysteries.

James worried less about his younger brother than about Lily. Al found consolation in the company of Amanda Dursley. If he wasn't with Lily or Rose, he could usually be found next to the Hufflepuff. He even smiled sometimes – absently and sadly, but he smiled. He ate well and slept soundly, although sometimes he cried in his sleep and called for Mummy. But James knew – he could get over it and move on. Only on the outside did Albus appear fragile and delicate.

James sat down under an ancient tree on the lake shore and looked at the water. His father used to tell him about him and James' mother spending their free time under this tree during their school years. Of course, Harry never told James that he sat there in tears once – after Sirius had died. But even so, James came to this spot, as if the place itself could make it easier for him. Besides, nobody could see him cry here.

He heard the bell ring. It would be dinner soon and the students would pour into the Great Hall. James didn't feel like eating. He didn't want to see their merry faces, hear their laughter and chatter. Only at the Gryffindor table people spoke quietly or whispered to each other, and the faces were somber. He didn't want to see that either, it only made him feel worse.

"Now I know where they will erect the new monument," Malfoy's voice said behind James. The Slytherin sat down on his backpack next to James. James grinned – briefly, almost unnoticeably.

The youth was grateful to his friend for being the only one who wasn't walking grim-faced, looking at the Potters as if they were one step away from the grave. Malfoy did not cast compassionate glances at his friend, did not try to help out all the time like the others did, which only served to remind him of his loss. Scorpius remained himself. Perhaps, only in his company James was able to relax and get a break from mourning.

"What monument?"

"Well, when you do something heroic, in the great Potter tradition, they will erect a monument in your honor," Malfoy shrugged, taking a cap out of his pocket and putting it over James' head. It was chilly and the youth did not even have a scarf around his neck. "I have picked out a spot already. Here you will look impressive, even in stone. You will be looking out in the distance, your hair tousled by the wind – not like you even need it…"

"Agreed, you will be the sculptor," James took off Malfoy's cap and stared at it pointedly. The cap was green, trimmed with Malfoy coat-of-arms embroidery. "Listen, I keep forgetting to ask – is your underwear embroidered in the same fashion?"

"Of course, wanna look?" Malfoy was already getting up, sticking his hands beneath his robes.

"Go to hell! It's freezing! I am still clinging to the hope of my kids beating yours at dueling; don't jeopardize that."

"It's so nice of you to care about the Malfoy family line," Scorpius took the cap – and pull it over James' head again. "Let's go; it's time to get some grub. You don't have to hide anymore – classes are over for today."

The two friends got up and plodded down trail covered with fallen leaves toward the castle. James stared down at his feet and Malfoy was whistling, as usual, to fill the silence.

"You know, I think that we have had enough Potter monuments," Scorpius grumbled suddenly, nodding toward the Forbidden Forest. James looked over there as well, although he already knew who he would see there.

Lily came to her father's statue all the time. She probably felt closer to him this way, as if she was morally supporting him. The Seventh Years hesitated, unsure whether to go to the girl or to leave her alone with her thoughts.

"I don't have another cap," Malfoy said, thrusting his hands in his robes pockets. "By the way, your sister didn't go to breakfast…"

"Even so, she won't go with us," muttered James. "And I can empathize."

"Alright, this is what we'll do," Malfoy said resolutely. "You go to your room and pick up something warm for her, and I shall go to the Great Hall and stock up on food. Then we shall meet here again for a small picnic."

The Gryffindor nodded.

"And don't forget to dress as well. Don't think this cap is a gift," Scorpius remarked, hurrying up the steps to the front door.

James returned before his friend did, wearing scarf around his neck and a grey cap on his head and carrying clothes for Lily. He had seen Albus in the Gryffindor tower, playing chess with Hugo. Rose promised to make sure that the boy had dinner. James noted that both Weasleys – brother and sister – looked haggard and scared. Although he could not summon the strength to fret about Uncle Ron as well, Rose and Hugo must have been worried sick about him.

Malfoy showed up with a bag of food; he was not alone, either – Xenia came with him, also carrying a bag. She smiled at James. They hadn't been alone in a long time – since that evening by the lake. And they hardly spoke because the Gryffindor did not attend classes, staying away from people. Xenia did not object, did not pursue him; she probably understood that he was not up to dealing with personal feelings right now.

Lily was still standing by the statue, with her arms wrapped around her; no scarf, no gloves, unfastened robes, red hair spilling over her shoulders in disarray. The three students walked up to her and James put his arm around his sister. She flinched and looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Is this your plan: to catch cold and join Dad in the hospital that way?" James dared to joke. He did not want sympathy or plattitudes, and he thought that Lily would not find it helpful either. Nothing was worse than pity.

The youth pulled the cap over his sister's red hair, wrapped a scarf around her slender neck, and handed her the gloves, making sure that she put them on.

"Hello, Potter-in-a-skirt," Malfoy stepped from behind James' back. "A suggestion was made to have a picnic."

Lily shrugged, glancing sadly at Xenia who stood a little aloof. The four of them went closer to the lake where they sat down on the bench in the shadow of the willow-trees, and attacked the sandwiches and pumpkin juice. James ate with gusto for the first time in days. Lily, however, was only nibbling at her sandwich, staring absently into the distance.

James didn't know ho to help her. He had tried – and failed. She closed herself off. Even Rose, who had volunteered to speak with her, was completely unsuccessful; and Lily did not have friends at school closer than her cousin.

"McGonagall handed out the graded homework on live transfigurations," Malfoy said suddenly, as is he just recalled it. James could have sworn, however, that his friend had never forgotten about it in the first place, and had only been waiting for the right moment. Xenia tried to repress a smile, apparently in on what was about to happen. "You, Potter, won't believe it, but you received an 'Exceeds expectations'".

"I am glad."

"No, you don't get it!" Scorpius frowned. "You got an 'Exceeds expectations' for the homework that was almost entirely written by me! And I got a mere 'Satisfactory'! Is that fair?!"

James chuckled:

"Did you copy the dementor scenario from me?"

"Very funny," Malfoy snorted, tossing fruit candy in his mouth. "You owe me one now."

"And why is that?" James was speaking to Malfoy but looking at his sister who seemed to not even hear them. She was simply staring at her uneaten sandwich.

"Because you received my mark, that is why! So – pay up."

"Mafoy, is your money stocking showing bottom?"

"I don't think that it will become empty before you get old enough for great-grand-children," the Slytherin glanced at the statue-like Lily Potter and sighed in resignation.

"What do you want then?" James looked at his friend with suspicion.

"You shall go to the library directly and look for the book titled 'The consequences of incorrect application of spells and potions'", Malfoy responded lightly. "Xenia will help you out."

It suddenly dawned on James that he was either being dismissed or distracted. Malfoy would not play a matchmaker! Would he? Of course, if it was in his interests, this particular Slytherin would huddle his Mum and Dad into the Forbidden Forest to look for quail tears.

"Right now?" James pretended to have no desire to go anywhere, especially to the library.

"Yep, you broke it – you fix it – scoot! I need that book by dinnertime, so make haste, in case it proves difficult to find," Malfoy winked at Potter and turned to Xenia, "Make sure that nobody gives him too hard a time."

"Malfoy!" James snarled wontedly and then suddenly realized that it had taken Scorpius all of a couple minutes to make him feel normal; to make him feel. How he managed that and where he learned how to do it, the Gryffindor had no idea, but he hoped that Scorpius would be able to pull it off with Lily as well.

James rose to his feet, tossed his lunch leftovers into the lake – the lazy squid immediately grabbed the snack and dragged it with it to the bottom – and, taking Xenia's hand in a smooth gesture, walked toward the castle without a word to Lily. She appeared to not even notice his departure. James silently wished his friend luck and concentrated on being in the company of a girl whom he liked very much.

"What is this book?" James said after a silence. They passed several students – many did not have classes after lunch. The Gryffindor avoided looking at them – it made him feel sick to his stomach.

Xenia smiled softly, pressing her shoulder against him. He put his arm around her waist at once, feeling that this was the right thing to do, especially after the way this girl helped him on the most terrible night of his life by simply sitting next to him, simply having his hand in hers, simply holding him and stroking his hair.

"This book is a figment of Scorpius Malfoy's imagination. He wanted you to stay ay the library for the next few hours, I think," Xenia rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. She smelled of flowers.

"Where shall we go then? To _write_ the book?" they walked into the Entrance Hall. Xenia shook her head and gave him a conspiratorial wink as she led him up the stairs.

"It's a surprise. Malfoy discovered it on Tuesday and has been waiting for the right moment. Let's go. You will enjoy it."

James, intrigued, followed the girl. They went up to the sixth floor, crossed a hallway, turned a corner, and Xenia stopped in front of the picture of a handsome hippogriff who watched the two students crossly and warily, hoofing the ground.

"So?" James turned toward the Slytherin only to see her bow to the beast in the picture. The hippogriff narrowed his eyes and then … bowed back.

"Come on, James, you have to bow as well or it won't work," Xenia whispered. James, feeling like a complete idiot, bowing at a picture, nevertheless did as she asked. The hippogriff returned the greeting and looked up and down the hallway – as if making sure that no one else was there. And then James saw with amazement that a door handle began to materialize next to the picture.

"But this cannot be!" he exclaimed as Xenia closed the door behind them. They found themselves in a small room, lit by only a few candles, furnished with red drapes on the walls, a loveseat by the burning fireplace, and a cocktail table next to it. "Xenia, this is incredible! But… my father used to say that the Room of Requirement had been destroyed!"

"Well, it appears that it has restored itself. Or simply moved a floor down," the girl shrugged, clearly pleased with James' reaction. She walked over to the loveseat and sat down, taking off her scarf and gloves.

"Only a git like Malfoy would conceive of bowing to the picture of a hippogriff – just to see what happens," James chuckled.

He also took off his cap and scarf, then his robes, and sat down next to Xenia, feeling at peace with himself. The pain receded, as if a salve was applied to the aching wound in his heart.

"You are smiling," Xenia whispered, touching James' cheek with her cool hand and looking into his eyes. "I can't believe that you are smiling again."

"I can't either," he put his arms around the girl, holding her close. Then he kissed her – it had been so long since he tasted her cold lips, her tongue; felt her hands, stroking his body through his thin shirt. "I need you so much. You have no idea how much I need you…"

"I am here, I am with you," she whispered into his lips as she kissed him, running her fingers through his hair.

The candlelight cast an even glow over the room, danced in her golden hair. James pulled away from her lips. Xenia pressed his head to her shoulder, stroking lightly, almost soothingly with her cool fingers; and he relaxed, giving in to the feeling of calm. He dozed off, forgetting about everything, even his pain and bitterness, for the first time in days. There was only her breathing, her cool hand and her soft whisper. James could not make out the words, and they were not important anymore…His heart grew calmer and the ache soothed, bringing him peace.


	26. Part III - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

_**As I was proof-reading this chapter, I felt glad that I had rated this fanfic as M. There is a little teenage hormones-induced interaction here, what with two young people from very different wizarding families clumsily finding their way toward one another. I had to remind myself that if their behavior seemed a bit extreme to me, well, it might have something to do with my not being a teenager anymore... :) Again, Scorpius is being his conflicted self... it takes some accepting.**_

_**Chapter 2. Lily Potter.**_

Lily sat on the bench, staring senselessly at the sandwich in her hand. She was not hungry – at all. She didn't want anything… other than to simply sit and be quiet, to simply breathe and feel; and to hope that tomorrow – tomorrow and no other day – her father will turn up on Hogwarts doorstep. Even if he was miserable, like all of them, fine; as long as he came.

Daddy.

Lily tried not to think about her mother, because she cried when she did. And she did not want to cry. Tears would not help; would not bring back; would not save.

"Potter, the sandwich is not poisoned."

Malfoy sat down next to her. Oh, yes, he had come with James; and stayed with her.

"You have to eat."

"Yes."

"When was your last meal?"

"I don't remember." It was so easy to answer questions. They were only words. She hadn't eaten for a while – she just was not hungry. She hadn't slept for a while – she simply could not sleep. She fell asleep once – and dreamt of an incredibly beautiful animal, a doe. The doe was weeping; it was horrible. Lily didn't slept since; she merely dozed off from time to time. She went to classes, not even trying to participate, only recording mechanically after the professors. She did not do well, but no one reprimanded her, lectured her, or gave her bad marks.

"All right, Potter, I am not going to stand by and watch you become the ghost of Hamlet's father…"

"Who?" Lily realized that she had been listening to him and actually heard him. His voice irritated her, forced her to think; to feel. It was as though he penetrated the wall that she erected around her.

"Doesn't matter. Anyway, at the rate you are going, we shall be able to get you engaged to the Gryffindor headless ghost…"

"Nearly headless," Lily corrected the Slytherin. Was he saying these bizarre things on purpose?

"I don't see a difference. And don't change the subject," Malfoy moved closer and took the sandwich out of her hands. "Either you begin eating or I will make you do it."

She was tired of him. Lily rose to her feet and simply walked away, her arms wrapped around her. The state of calm returned, where she was content to just repeat "mummy" and "daddy" over and over again.

It was as if something suddenly nudged her in the back. And then she felt warm and calm, and relaxed. All thoughts vanished. And a familiar and dear voice inside her head said _Go back_. And she went – it was so nice not to have to think on her own but simply obey.

_Sit. Take the bread and eat. Right now._

Lily smiled absently; her eyes became unfocused. She obediently took the sandwich and began chewing. She didn't want to – but the gentle voice had said so. And she ate, looking down at her hands and not thinking. For the first time in several days she was not thinking about anything.

Following the orders, she ate three sandwiches and drank the juice, not having the will to resist. And why would she? She was content.

"Mr. Malfoy! Ms. Potter!"

_Look at Faust__, say hello._

She did just that: she greeted the head of her House and the resumed looking down at her hands.

_Good girl. Just sit there, just so._

"Mr. Malfoy, the Headmistress was looking for you."

"What for?"

"You father paid a visit."

"Oh, really? Just passing by?"

"He came to take you home."

"Wow! Was it because he missed me?"

"Mr. Malfoy, he didn't inform me of his reasons."

"And where is he now? Or did Professor McGonagall turn him into a… ferret?"

_Smile._ Lily did just that, without looking up at Faust.

"No, Mr. Malfoy. Professor McGonagall insisted that you continue your education. We cannot yet claim with confidence that you know everything that an average wizard should know."

"I am sure that my father was glad to hear it."

"He was a little upset."

"Did he leave a message? Blew me a kiss, perhaps?"

"Miss Potter, are you feeling well?" the head of the Gryffindor House must have noticed her vacant look.

_Say that you didn't sleep well._

"I didn't sleep well, Professor," she mumbled.

"Then why don't you go to your room and get some rest?"

Professor Faust walked off and Lily heard the voice in her head again:

_Let's go to your room._

And she went, knowing that someone else was going with her. She ascended the stairs without a problem; told the password to the Fat Lady. If the latter was surprised that Lily was letting a Slytherin into the Gryffndor common room, she didn't say anything.

Several Sixth Years were sitting in the common room.

"Malfoy, what…?" it was Rose. She was looking from Lily to her companion.

"Weasley, leave her alone. If you aren't able to bring the girl to her senses, then don't get in the way of those who can."

Lily saw her cousin sit back down in her chair.

_To your room, Potter._

As soon as she walked in and the door closed behind her, Lily realized at once that the spell lifted. She whirled around and stared wide-eyed at Malfoy, who had the wand in his hand. A strange-looking wand; a familiar-looking wand. She would think of it later, however.

"You put me under an Imperius Curse!" the girl cried, taking out her wand.

"I warned you that I would make you eat," the other shrugged, not at all phased by her aggressive stance. "You didn't listen."

"You used an Unforgivable Curse! On me!" Lily was shouting now as she raised her wand. She didn't have time to do anything, however.

"Expelliarmus!" and the girl's weapon appeared in the Slytherin's hand. He was grinning.

"You bastard!" Lily was not deterred. She darted for Malfoy and slapped him across the face. His head jerked aside, but he did not do anything to stop her. The Gryffindor swung her arm back and slapped him again. A red mark appeared on his face. Malfoy remained silent, looking at her with his silver eyes. Completely beside herself now, Lily slapped him for the third time. On the fourth swing, he caught her arm and squeezed it tight.

"Stop," his voice was harsh, his eyes – narrowed. "Enough."

"You slime! You had no right! This…this…" she was punching him in the chest with her free hand, trying to assuage her anger at him; and her pain; and her disdain for the unperturbable Slytherin.

He let her inflict that pain on him as well, before tossing both wands on the bed, catching her other arm, turning, and pressing her against the wall, trapping her.

"Potter," Malfoy's voice was threatening, "either you stop this or I shall get my wand and make you do something that you really won't enjoy doing!"

Lily tried to wrench out of his grip, still burning with ire and wrath. It was all in vain though, for he was bigger and stronger.

"Let go of me!" Lily hissed, trying to kick him, but he trapped both her legs with one of his. "I shall scream."

"Go ahead," Malfoy snorted. "But before you do, listen to me."

"I won't!"

"You will," Scorpius snarled. "You will; and you will listen carefully. You were completely at my mercy; I could have done anything I wanted with you. Just feel this word – a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g!"

Lily stared, wide-eyed, into his pale face.

"You were at my mercy and all I did was make you eat. Not take your clothes off in the middle of the street, or do a summersault, or profess your undying love for Slughorn! Just eat. Did it harm you? Or was it that it hurt your pride?"

"You humiliated me," Lily said through her teeth, looking angrily into the silvery pools. He was right, absolutely right. He had power over her at that moment, and he did not abuse it. But Lily was enraged that he was able to control her in the first place. That he used something on her that was dark, dirty, something terrible, even if it was done with good intentions. "You had no right."

"And for that I allowed you to humiliate _me_ in return – by slapping me; three times," the Slytherin uttered distinctly, relaxing his grip on her hands a little bit. "I believe we are even."

"Let me go."

"No. First you will promise me that you will go to bed."

"What?!"

"Was I not clear?" he was angry now, "You have to get some sleep or St. Mungo's will have to establish a family suite for Potters."

"What do you care?!" Lily tried to wrench free again, and the Slytherin's grip immediately tightened.

"Listen, Potter, can you once in your life simply do what you are told?" Malfoy was looking fixedly at her face, flushed with anger.

"After you used an Imperius on me?!"

"Merlin, Potter, are we back to that?" Scorpius was beginning to lose patience. It must have been uncomfortable for him to stand, holding her. "Damn, I don't even know why I am doing this."

"I don't either…"

"Potter, would it kill you to promise?" his voice became muted as he was staring at her face. No, her lips. She would shrink back if she could.

"I won't promise you a thing," Lily retorted, not so much angry at his words as at the look on his face.

"Damn! I am so tired of you all…" Malfoy breathed and pressed his lips to hers, putting her arms behind her back, both embracing her and effectivelyh holding her against him. She did not resist, almost immediately letting his tongue into her mouth. Scorpius released her hands – she put them around his neck, pulling him down, closer to her. Lily was responding, unskillfully, timidly, but she was responding.

Malfoy forced himself to pull back in order to fill his empty lungs. And then an unexpected happened – she slapped him again.

"What was _that_ for?" perhaps, for the first time in his life Malfoy was taken aback by a girl. It wasn't like she had resisted, quite the opposite, was ready to continue.

"A payback," Lily grinned, wrenching free of his embrace. She wasn't quick enough to pick up her wand, however – Malfoy beat her to it.

"Payback? I can't quite recall," He was playing with her wand, having put his away in his robes pocket.

"_I_ do," Lily retorted.

"Merlin, you were plotting your revenge for several days for one kiss?" Malfoy laughed, which riled Lily up all over again. "Potter, I wouldn't have expected you to hold a grudge like that!"

"Prat!" she stomped her foot, clenching her fists. "You… you have spoiled… the most important moment of my life!"

"Spoiled?!" Scorpius reached her in one leap, grabbed her and kissed her again, in rage and exasperation, inflicting slight pain. The Gryffindor tried to wrench free, but he didn't give her a chance, falling on the bed with her, trapping her with his body and deepening his kiss. And she surrendered quickly, allowing him to kiss her and stroke her shoulders, flanks, and thighs. He became tender and loving in turn, kissing her lips carefully, soothingly. He pulled away just a little, rolling onto his side, but not letting her out of his arms. He rested his chin on top of her head and whispered, while stroking her arm:

"Stop torturing yourself, I beg you. Go on living, because by killing yourself, you won't bring back you mother; and you won't help your father."

She was silent, snuggling trustingly against his chest, and only sighed in response. She was able to forget about everything for half an hour. During that time, he made her feel no pain. And now the pain was back, but it wasn't as all-encompassing, as unbearable. It became more tolerable. It was as if something nudged it out of the way a little, stashed it in the back of her soul; as if the caring hands that were holding her now shielded her from the abyss that had been holding her captive for so many days.

"Sleep," he whispered, settling down more comfortably. "Sleep. I'll be here."

"Thank you," she whispered, feeling her eyelids droop with fatigue.

"For what exactly?"

"For everything…" these were the last words she was able to say before a deep dreamless slumber claimed her.


	27. Part III - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

Chapter 3. Harry Potter.

The heavily guarded hospital room was shrouded in semi-darkness, hardly any sound breaking the peace and quiet of this small room. Lying on the white sheets, as he had for the last six days, was a dark-haired man with an absent look on his pale face. His tanned arms were arranged neatly atop the covers.

No one but Hermione and Teddy entered this room, aside from the Healers who were constantly monitoring Harry Potter's condition. The patient was sequestered from the outside world and any and all influences that could worsen his state.

Hermione was sitting in a chair at her friend's bedside, holding his hand. She and Teddy took turns, but she still hardly ever left the hospital, because her husband was kept in the other closed-off room close by.

"Harry," Hermione tried to speak to him even though she knew that he couldn't hear her. The terrible wounds on his chest and arms were closing and healing, but he was still in deep coma, with no reaction to the external stimuli, no improvement

Everyone knew why. Harry simply didn't want to come back. "Harry, Albus wrote you a letter. It says that he likes it at Hogwarts. He had tea with Hagrid. He also helped Neville to care for the fig-trees in the green-house. He became friends with Headless Nick. And he misses you. We all do. Harry, please, we need you. _I_ need you."

As usual, Harry didn't respond, didn't move; his breathing was just as deep and even. His hand was hot.

The door opened and shut quietly behind her. It was Smethwick, the Healer who was treating Harry.

"Mrs. Weasley," the Healer stood beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. "You have to get some rest."

"No."

"Yes. I insist that you go and get even a short nap. You cannot be of any help here," Smethwick took her gently by the shoulders and led her to the door. "If anything changes, anything at all, I shall inform you immediately, I promise you."

Smethwick practically pushed the woman out into the hallway. He remained in the room. He walked over to the patient, checked his pulse, pulled back the covers and examined the wounds on Harry's bandaged chest. They had managed to stop the bleeding and the wounds were healing slowly.

The Healer had only one fear – that Harry Potter did not want to be healed. And it had nothing to do with his physical condition. Therefore, Smethwick, a mature and experienced Healer decided to try a healing method that was not widely known. There was no other way. It was either that or wait, hoping for a miracle – that Harry Potter would decide to return of his own accord.

Ten minutes passed by. Finally, the door opened, and a man in a standard lemon-yellow robe walked in. He was a younger Healer, about twenty five years old, with black hair framing his pale pointed face; he had an astute gaze, and a slightly aquiline nose.

"I was told that you were looking for me, Healer Smethwick," the newcomer said in a hushed tone as he shut the door behind him and approached the bed. "Have you resolved then to accept my suggestion?"

"Yes, Theo, I believe that it is our only chance. Are you certain that you will be able to find the exact memories that will help Mr. Potter?" Smethwick asked a little nervously.

"I am," the young man replied firmly. He understood, however, that his mentor was not satisfied. "The patient's mind is now completely unprotected, especially against an outside influence. It will be very easy to fish any memory out of it."

"Yes, yes, I understand… You, with your talent for Occlumency, of course, know best." Smethwick touched Theo's hand, with no reaction from the latter. "What will happen if you should not succeed?"

"Nothing. Nothing will happen," the young healer shrugged his shoulders, while the expression on his face indicated that failure was not even a shadow of an option in his mind. "Shall we begin?"

Smethwick nodded, took out his wand and sealed the room from the inside to make sure they were not interrupted. Theo pulled out his own wand. He took off his robes and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His face became impassive, calm, his eyes full of intense concentration. Theo pointed his wand at Harry Potter and uttered: "Legilemence".

A cacophony of images and sounds – that was what the Healer encounterd first in his patient's mind. A multitude of shifting colourful pictures. Then Theo began to perceive the emotions that the unconscious Harry Potter had been experiencing for several days. It was horror and pain.

A green flash and a whirlwind of red hair. A two-faced man standing by the mirror. A little red-haired girl lying on the floor and an ancient monster with ruined eyes looming over her. Dementors leaning over a thin raggedy man on a lakeshore. A green flash, and a handsome boy falling dead to the ground. A horrible skeleton-like man rising from the cauldron, staring coldly with his red eyes. More dementors gliding down a dark alley. A man slowly falling through a raised arc. A grey-haired wizard writhing in agony on a tiny island surrounded by a crowd of inferi. The same wizard falling over the tower battlements. Him again, lying on the ground, his glasses slipped from his nose. A snow-white owl dropping dead to the floor of its cage, with the cage itself plummeting to the ground. A house-elf with a silver knife plunged deep in his chest. A red-haired youth, his dead eyes staring up at the sky. A black-haired, sallow-faced man with blood and something silvery dripping from his body. A big hall with bodies of the dead lining the walls. An awkward young man with an old hat burning on top of his head. A dead face, scarred and scratched, against the shroud. A plump red-haired woman, eyes closed in eternal sleep. A boy kneeling by the body at his feet in the middle of a dark street, spells flashing all around him. The bodies of a red-haired man and woman in an alley, several werewolves with bared teeth over them. A green flash and a whirlwind of red hair… Over and over again, millions of times, around the clock.

Theo began his search, pulling up happy memories from the exhausted mind. As if screening a movie, the Healer was showing Harry Potter that not only pain and loss were there in his life. There were many happy moments. He moved from the more recent memories further back in time.

Harry and his wife on a swing at night. A black-haired boy in a sun-drenched kitchen. Three children sleeping in a dimply-lit room. His laughing wife with a letter in her hand. A teenager on a broomstick next to an ungainly, rickety house. A girl with a prefect badge. A child's first steps. A swaddled infant in Harry potter's arms…

Many memories kept repeating, especially those of the last few years, but Theo did not neglect those. The deeper he descended into Harry Potter's recollections, the stronger were the happy and sad feelings triggered by them.

A wedding. A restored wand. A red-haired youth, completely drenched with water, a shining sword in his hand. A smiling, life-weary man in worn-out clothes standing in the middle of a small kitchen, a wine-glass in his hand.

A kiss from a red-haired girl in Quidditch robes. A grey-haired wizard on the doorstep.

A strange room full of students with raised wands. A laughing chestnut-haired girl and a red-haired youth by the fireplace in a round room. Kissing a black-haired girl under the mistletoe.

A golden egg and a smiling red-haired teenager.

A new broomstick lying on a long table. An emaciated man flying away on a hippogriff. A grey-haired wizard holding the Quidditch cup. A silver stag bursting forth from the tip of a wand.

A bushy-haired girl running down the aisle in the Great Hall.

A golden ball clenched in a boy's hand and people jumping in delight all around. A red-haired woman and a black-haired man smiling from inside a mirror. A huge man sitting on a broken-down sofa, and a letter written in green emerald ink…

Theo slowly replaced the old pictures – with dead people in them – with those of happy faces of Potter's friends and family. Like building a mosaic, he weaved a throng of images in the man's defenseless mind.

He realized that the mind was no longer quite as vulnerable; a slight movement, a barely perceptible touch of new thoughts. Theo slowly withdrew from Harry Potter's consciousness, once again finding himself standing in a hospital room, looking into the face of the man whose life he just scanned.

"So?" Smethwick shifted uneasily at Theo's shoulder. He looked worried.

"We need to wait," the black-haired Healer wearily put away his wand and stepped away from the bed. Theo was pale. "I have never seen so much…"

He didn't complete the sentence, nor was it necessary. It was obvious from looking at his face that he had just visited a small private hell. Harry Potter's hell. Hell that was the price of heroism.

Smethwick walked over to the bed and took the patient's pulse. Harry's heart was racing.

"When do you think the results will show? _If_ they do."

"I don't know. It is difficult to estimate," Theo put his robes back on. "I need to get some rest now."

"Yes, of couse, go ahead," Smethwick's eyes followed the young Healer, and he soon left the room as well, hoping that they had done the right thing by invading the sick man's mind.

When Harry opened his eyes, the room was empty. It seemed to him as though he had been flying through the cosmos of his own life, and then someone ripped him out of it and threw him down on this bed. It came to him with instant and complete clarity where he was and why. And the picture that had been tormenting him for so long readily presented itself once again before his eyes – Ron, bleeding, yet fighting valiantly against his tormentors, and the vacant stare of Ginny's dead eyes.

There was void now in Harry's heart as well – void in the part of his soul that had been occupied by his love for Ginny. He could try to delude himself into thinking that this was not really happening, but the heart that for so many years had been filled to the brim with his love for her told him the loss of this loving person in his life was permanent and irrevocable. Again. Once again, he was alone.

A wave of horrible grief and loneliness made him gasp. It was so familiar; the same pain; the same void. And there he had been, hoping that he would never feel it again.

And then the guilt came. An even harder feeling to bear; and also a familiar one. Except this time there was no Dumbledore by his side to shoulder at least part of the load.

This time it was all his fault. Harry closed his eyes, biting his lips until they bled. He didn't tell Ginny anything, didn't warn her. She would not have been that trusting, she would have been more careful. And there would have been no alley where his world collapsed, the world that for so many years endowed him with strength, showered with love, healed with warmth.

Harry clenched his fists. _Why live if you are the reason your world is no more? If it is your fault that your wife was killed? If you are filled with self-loathing? If your heart is void and your soul is empty?_

He started when the door opened. Hermione walked in – he recognized her even with his glasses off. Her face was peaked, dark circles around her eyes. She looked thinner. She walked over to the bed and only then saw the green eyes staring at her; bleeding lips; clenched fists.

"Harry," she gasped and rushed to his side, sat down, took his hand, and pressed it to her chest, afraid to embrace him or disturb him in any way. "Oh, Harry…"

"Go ahead. Tell me," he whispered, lying still, looking into her tear-filled eyes. How tired and worn-out she must be.

"Harry, I…" she was painfully squeezing his arm, probably unaware of it herself.

"Tell me. I have to hear it," his voice was weak, but his face – determined, in a way all too familiar to Hermione.

"Harry, Ginny… she… she…"

"And Ron?" Harry merely nodded, knowing how difficult it was for her to say it out loud. She must have had to say these words more than once in the last few days. Yet, looking into his unforgiving – of himself – green eyes, she couldn't bring herself to say them.

"He is getting better," Hermione looked away, keeping her hand on his hot arm.

"How many days has it been?"

"Six…" she couldn't understand why he was asking irrelevant questions. "Harry…"

"Don't," he pulled his arm from her grip, and turned his head, as if detaching himself from her.

"Harry, please…"

"I want to be alone," he asked tonelessly.

"No," Hermione said firmly and, no longer afraid of hurting him, turned him toward her. "Don't you dare! Do you hear me? Don't you dare turn away from me! I won't let you."

"You don't understand…" he couldn't help tears filling his eyes.

"I don't understand? Really? Do you think that you are the only one who is in pain?" She no longer cared that he had barely come out of a coma; she simply had to make him understand how much she needed him. "I prayed for six days straight that you and Ron would survive, that you would come back to us! Do you think it was easy for me to live during these six days, with Ginny gone, Ron a werewolf, and you possibly never regaining consciousness?! I practically tore myself in half, unsure of who to run to first! I had to look into the eyes of your and my children! I had to break to your kids the news of them being near orphans! I had to tell Rose and Hugo that their father was at death's door, and their aunt had been murdered! And now you dare telling me that I don't understand?!"

Hermione burst into tears as she jumped to her feet next to his bed. Harry jerked toward her and almost sat upright, no longer caring about the pain in his chest. She hugged him, burying her tear-stained face against his shoulder.

"I cannot be alone with this anymore, do you understand? You cannot leave me. And you cannot be alone with this, either," she whispered feverishly in his ear, stroking his hair. "We have to stick together, and survive this together. I can't do it without you. And your children can't do without you either. They need you. Don't distance yourself from us."

"Sorry…" he winced and drew back a little. Hermione helped him lie down.

"Don't say anything; it's ok," the flash of anger had passed and she was now sorry for yelling at him; after all, she had waited so long for him to wake up. "I know. It's just that I got so tired in these last few days…"

"Tell me. Tell me everything."

"No, you need your rest," Hemione shook her head while smoothing the covers on the bed. "You have to get your strength back. I will be here for you."

"No, I must know…"

"I will tell you everything, but later. I promise," the woman stroked his sunken cheek. "You are alive, you are with us. We will get through this, together. But to do that, you have to get well."

Harry surrendered to the tender touch and warmth of her hand. He closed his eyes and almost instantly fell asleep, although even then the aching sadness stayed with him. Still, he was sleeping, not trapped in a kaleidoscope of horrible images that had been tormenting him for so long. It was sleep, not hell that now seemed to have forever become part of his life.


	28. Part III - Chapter 4 - Ginny Potter

_**Ok, I said before that the worst was over. This chapter will be pretty tough, so hang in there! The one after that gets better though. Life goes on, sad as it feels sometimes... "Everything will be alright in the end, and if it is not alright, it is not the end."**_

_**Chapter 4. Ginny Potter.**_

Cold, autumn sun rose over Hogwarts on Saturday morning and peered into each window on the east side of the castle.

Lily wasn't quite awake yet when Albus burst into her room, followed by James. Her brother was smiling wearily.

"Get up. Right now!" Albus jumped on her bed. "We are going to visit Daddy!"

"Daddy?" Lily jumped, knowing now that the sun must have been a good omen. "He came to? Really?!"

Her brothers laughed – for the first time in days. They laughed as they had before, when their mother was alive; before, when they all felt blissfully happy; before, when their mother was with them. She must be with them still – or wouldn't be laughing like this.

They didn't even go to breakfast. Lily got ready in five minutes and they ran to the Headmistress' study where Teddy Lupin waited for them. The four of them took turns disappearing in the fireplace, carrying with them "Hello"s and "Get well"s from the well-wishers.

When they arrived in the foyer of the St. Mungo's hospital, they instantly experienced a slight shock from being attacked by news reporters who were asking them millions of questions, which they weren't going to answer even if they knew what to say. Several Ministry workers hastily blocked Potters from the press core and Teddy wasted no time in getting them through the interior doors.

The second floor was quiet and empty. Lupin led the three children to the door of the room guarded by an Auror with his wand at the ready.

"Have you checked their identities?" the man looked suspiciously at the visitors.

"Of course," Lupin opened the door and let Potters through. "I shall wait for you here."

The children found themselves in a well-lit room. Their father was reclining on the bed, looking at something in his hands.

"Dad!" Albus' shout was deafening. The boy ran up to the bed, jumped on it and hugged his father. Harry held his son's slim body close with one hand, while reaching the other out to Lily. The girl smiled through her tears. James shook the proffered hand, feeling enormously relieved because their father lived. This, at least, did not change.

Albus sat down on the bed next to Harry; Lily sat on the edge of the bed as well; James pulled up a chair. The children hungrily drank in their father's pale face.

"Daddy, how are you?" Lily wiped her wet cheeks with her sleeve.

"Oh, Lil, don't cry," Harry stroked her shoulder. "I have almost recovered; the Healers say that they will discharge me in a couple of days."

James didn't believe his father's cheerful voice; the expression in his green eyes gave him away.

The youth looked over the room, and he saw immediately what his father had been looking at. A picture lay face down on the bedside table. He reached out and took it. His mother smiled softly at him.

James looked up at his family as everyone grew silent. Albus' lips began to tremble and he buried his face in his father's chest. Harry stroked Al's back, while looking at James.

"Daddy," Lily called out softly, "Daddy, what happened to… Momma?"

Harry closed his eyes wearily, as though he couldn't bear to look at the sad faces of his children.

"Lily, boys…" he said, pulling himself together. "This is not easy to say."

"Daddy, we are with you," Albus muttered suddenly. "You won't leave us, will you?"

"Of course, not, Al; I shall be with you," his father patted the boy's hair. It was as if Albus' words gave him courage. "Your Mum… she was murdered."

"We know. By whom?" Lily whispered. She saw how difficult it was for her father to speak, but they needed the entire truth.

"The wizards who escaped from Azkaban in August."

"Was it an accident?" James was holding his mother's picture in his hands, but he could not bear looking at it any longer; better the sadness in his father's eyes.

"No. It was my team that had captured those wizards in the first place. They knew that I was in charge then."

"Daddy, were they werewolves?" Harry started and stared at Lily. "Werewolves, then."

"How..?"

James and Lily exchanged glances. Apparently, their father had not yet been informed that their mother was not the only one attacked that day. The youth nodded to his sister, and Lily, as concisely as she could, related the events in Hogsmead. Harry blanched so much that one could barely make out his face against the sheets.

"Father," when Lily fell silent, James stood up and came closer to the bed, "Did it happen the same way with Momma?"

Harry nodded. The children were quiet, with the exception of Albus who was huffing by his father's side.

"Teddy said that Momma will be with us anyway."

Al's simple words cause a maelstrom of emotion. Lily sobbed and averted her face; James walked to the window, his jaw fixed; and Harry closed his eyes again as if the sunlight pained him.

"Teddy was right, Albus," his father whispered. When Lily composed herself enough to look at him, she saw that his eyes too shone with tears. The girl suddenly noticed a grey lock in his hair.

"I shall never be able to ask her forgiveness for what I had done," James said tonelessly from where he stood by the window. He turned around, a grimace on his face. "Never."

His father carefully detached himself from Albus, sat up, and pushed aside the covers. Lily leaned toward him in alarm, but Harry's gesture stopped her. She nodded and pulled Albus into her arms, as he, no longer feeling his father's arms around him, seemed to have lost his bearings and was looking around in pained confusion.

Harry walked over to James and put his hand on his oldest son's shoulder.

"Jim, your mother knew that you never meant to do any harm."

The youth looked at his father with haunted eyes, as if looking for his support:

"I didn't even say goodbye to her then, the last time…"

"You can always speak to her, you know that. She will hear you," Harry hugged his son and James burst into tears, like he did when he was a little boy and was hurting. Then his Momma would hold him and comfort him. And now it seemed to him that his mother was soothing him through his father's arms.

"Sorry…"

Lily and Harry turned around – Hermione stood in the doorway, papers in hand. She was looking in confusion from one Potter to the other.

"Hello," Lily smiled stiffly, distracting Hermione and giving her father and brother time to pull themselves together. "How is Uncle Ron?"

"Better," it was difficult to tell by looking at Hermione's face, whether this was true or not. Lily simply nodded. "I didn't think that you would be here already… Harry! You should not get out of bed yet!"

Under his friend's stern gaze, Harry got back under the covers. It was then the children noticed that he winced at sharp movements and had bandages sticking out of the collar of his pajama top.

James stood with his face to the window, hands in pockets. Hermione walked over to the chair that he had vacated, and sat down. She glanced at the picture on the bedside table, and sighed sorrowfully.

"Did you want to say something, Hermione?" Harry settled Albus comfortably next to him again. She nodded uncertainly, looking sideways at the children, as if she couldn't speak in their presence.

"Should we leave?" Lily asked knowingly, looking from Hermione to her father.

"I don't know…" the woman mumbled. "This concerns you too. It doesn't matter…"

"Tell us," James walked over and sat next to his sister, putting his arm around her shoulders, as if prepared to support her through more difficult news.

Harry nodded in acceptance of his children's decision, and Hermione ventured to speak:

"Smethwick said that you would be discharged on Monday. Therefore, Mr. Weasley and I scheduled everything for that day… the funeral."

Silence. Then a sob came from Albus, making the rest of them shudder.

"Harry, is it all right if the children stay at _The Burrow_ while..?"

"Yes, of course. I shall let Zig know to send the security detail," the man responded in a lifeless voice, holding his youngest son against his chest and rocking him gently. "James…"

"Yes, Dad, I shall look after them," the youth understood his father without the unnecessary words. "Everything will be all right. The main thing is for you to get better. We shall be waiting for you."

The children got to their feet. Lily kissed her father on the cheek, waited to James to take the weeping Albus in his arms, and the three left the room. Accompanied by Teddy, they headed to _The Burrow_, where they immediately went up to one of the rooms assigned to them and remained in it for the rest of the day. They hardly said a word.

Their father came from the hospital on Monday morning. The children were already downstairs, dressed in black cloaks. Rose and Hugo, and the other Weasleys from Hogwarts were here too. They avoided looking each other in the eye and did not speak. Only the girls sobbed occasionally. Rose was trying to be supportive of the youngest children, although she looked as though she was going to burst into tears herself at any moment.

Harry was pale; his lips were pressed tightly as though he feared that they would tremble and give away his true feelings.

Hermione and Ron came in with Harry. Their children ran to them at once; Rose hugged her father tightly. James noticed that a man he didn't know was shadowing the Weasleys, but he didn't give it a second thought. Today he was focused on one thing only – to make it through the day. He knew that it would be hard. However, he had to hang in there, like his father, because there were also Lily and Albus, who had become almost wraith-like in the preceding days.

When the Weasley brothers arrived with their wives, everyone got up and left the house. At the gate, Weasleys and Potters Apparated. James held on to Charlie; Lily disappeared along with Hermione; Harry firmly grasped Albus' shoulders.

Eyes hurt from all the black. There were few people at the cemetery. Harry noticed absent-mindedly without that the place was surrounded by the Aurors. It made him feel worse.

It was good that Hermione had insisted on a quiet and, especially, a short ceremony. None of the Potters would have survived protracted farewells.

Bowed red-haired heads and tears; flowers.

Harry barely held back a howl when he saw Ginny. Someone held his elbow – Hermione. He saw Lily, crying on Teddy's shoulder, could not bear to look at the open casket; Mr. Weasley, his shoulders drooping with grief, comforted by Fleur; James, with tears running down his cheeks, yet still trying to comfort Albus.

Harry stood, frozen to the spot, while the numerous Weasleys were saying goodbye to their only daughter, sister, and aunt. He saw Ron and Hermione by the casket, yet he did not move. Neville and Luna were there as well – they muttered their condolnces to Harry, and he even nodded back.

"Harry…"

He realized that he was expected to say goodbye to his wife. He made a few steps forward and stared at her still face, almost unchanged by death; memorized, remembered, absorbed her features. He bent over and placed the last kiss on her cold lips. Then he straightened and touched her cheek with trembling fingers – as if forcing himself to believe that this was not a dream; not one of his old nightmares; that it was real.

James came up and stood next to him, putting his hand on his father's shoulder.

"Forgive me, Momma," the youth whispered, placing flowers on her covered feet. "We shall always love you."

Harry was led away. Lily couldn't force herself to come closer. The lid was closed and sealed, and the casket was lowered into the grave. Clods of earth fell on it with a thud.

And then there was Lily's horrible scream: "Momma!". Harry moved as to go to his daughter, but James forestalled him: he hugged her, whispering something in her ear, and led her away from that terrible place. The Weasleys were leaving also. Mr. Weasley carried Albus, who was too weak with grief to walk.

Harry remained alone by the fresh grave. He couldn't leave – there was so much that he hadn't said to her; so much that he hadn't done for her. His legs buckled; he dropped to his knees, while his eyes remained fixed at the gravestone that read: "Ginny Potter".

Not Ginevra; Ginny; his Ginny.

"Forgive me, my darling," Harry whispered. "Forgive me for not getting to you in time; for not keeping you safe; for not dying in your stead."

And he wailed – a horrible, anguished howl – pouring into it all his guilt and pain. And he cried – for the first time in days; for the first time in years.

Caring hands helped him up and held him. It was as if Ginny was behind those hands – his Ginny who was always near; his Ginny, who knew how to soothe and comfort; his Ginny, in whose arms he cried once before, when he lost Remus Lupin. And today he cried – at the grave of his Ginny.


	29. Part III - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

_**Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.**_

Never in all Scorpius' years at school had he ever had such a rotten weekend; and a horrid Monday.

The Slytherin was standing on the bank of the Black lake, throwing pebbles, hoping that at least one would hit the giant squid on the head and prompt him to stick it out of the water. At least, that would be a diversion. Although without James even this would not be as entertaining.

Malfoy threw a bigger rock, again with no effect. He spit in annoyance and walked away, hoping that he would bump into someone on whom he could take out his anger.

Why was he so angry? For himself, or, rather, at himself. He'd been angry for three days now. Why oh why had he decided to play a knight in shining armor or a prince charming? Not that it worked, anyway.

Scorpius kicked a snag out of his way. _What kind of a knight can someone named Malfoy make? Malfoys are not meant to be knightly! They are born to rule, to dominate, to humiliate, to mock._

He was never taught to do anything else. Lately, however, Scorpius began to wonder if there had been some insane flaw in his upbringing. Because in the last few weeks he experienced more and more frequently the stupid urge to rush to the rescue; and to the rescue of prefects, no less.

Scorpius reached the Quidditch pitch, sat down on the stands, and delved deeper into self-analysis, which he had been doing every day since James' departure. If you don't have anyone else to torture, torture yourself.

He must have adopted this stupid habit to be generous and noble from Potter. It must be contagious. Otherwise, what could be the explanation for his being bent on helping Lily Potter? Hell, no one asked him to! It would have been one thing if James wanted him to; but he never even hinted at it!

Scorpius knew that the Potters left Saturday morning – to visit their father in the hospital. And they had yet to come back. When he demanded information from Weasley, she only said that she didn't know when they would be back. Professors advised him not to meddle in other people's business. And then the Weasleys were gone too, which suggested a simple reason – the funeral.

And why did he care? The answer was simple: Scorpius Malfoy never had what Potters had, and he gravitated toward them subconsciously because of it. He saw their togetherness, their caring for one another, their affection. He never had that in his own family; none of this silly universal forgiveness, all-around support, family trips to the beach, and loud family parties with of a hundred relatives.

Potters had all that. And Malfoy, through his friendship with James, felt connected to it. And, gradually, he began to protect this wonderful world as much as they did. It was their world, yet a little bot his as well.

Maybe that was why he tried so hard to help them in their grief. Nothing happened to him personally – yet he still felt as though he had lost a part of himself, lost something important to him. Because his friend lost his mother. And so Scorpius helped – as much as he knew how, as much as he could.

Only an idiot would rush to rescue a damsel in distress, like he did. But, dammit, he was a Malfoy!

Scorpius got riled all over again. He couldn't figure out why he was badgering himself like this. So he put an Unforgivable Curse on Lily Potter, so what? He was only trying to help! He even let her slap him!

No, that was not why he was angry. It was because of what happened then; because of that for which he did not have a rational explanation. If he simply put a spell on her to make her fall asleep – that would have been normal; Normal for a Malfoy, that is. But he – possibly for the first time in his life – acted not according to plan, but on impulse! Not thinking – feeling; following his subconscious; not for the an end goal, but for instant gratification.

"Damn!" Scorpius shook his head, unwilling to even think about it.

What did he do wrong? He had a goal – to shake Potter out of her apathy. He found a simple and acceptable solution – Imperius. He usually did not consider the ethical aspect, because he had never been taught to do that. Ethics was for Potters, who were noble in each and every instance. For Scorpius Draco Malfoy only the ends were important, not the means. His father taught him that any available means were suitable for achieving the desired end; the important thing was not to be caught. Malfoy the younger learned this lesson perfectly; unlike many other lessons, much to his father's great disappointment.

"Scorpius, you have the face of a man who just has found out they he is to marry tomorrow, and without his consent."

Malfoy grinned when he saw Xenia standing next to him. Just who he wanted to see.

"Yeah, and you have the face of a woman who discovered that the guy who had taken her virginity ran out on her at dawn, never to be heard from again," the Slytherin said angrily, taking out the accumulated negativity feelings on his cousin. He instantly felt ashamed – just as he had thought, not only the Potters' generosity was contagious, so were their scruples. Xenia's face paled and she turned away from him. "Damn! Forgive me."

"You are such a fool, Malfoy!" Xenia said. "If you have problems, it is not a reason to work off your bad temper on others. What had that Hufflepuff girl done to you yesterday for you to glue her to the wall after dinner?"

"She got to me, that's all," Scorpius shrugged his shoulders.

"You know, I get a feeling that you just become unhinged without James."

"Yeah, a little," Malfoy smiled. Xenia turned toward him. "It's just that he is the keeper of our collective conscience. And I – of our collective brainpower."

Xenia snorted – she was not angry anymore, it seemed.

"Rumor has it that you were seen walking out of the Gryffindor tower in the middle of the night."

"Oh, just looking around. Maybe I shall decide to become their ghost after my demise; because their own ghost is just pathetic. Plus, it is much more cozy in there," Scorpius shrugged his shoulders.

"Come on, be serious!"

"Seriously? I tried to get in Weasley's bed, but her red-haired brothers were on duty, standing guard by the Head Girl's bedroom door, armed with clubs."

"Scorpius, you are insufferable," Xenia nudged her friend with her shoulder. "Fess up – were you with Lily?"

"And I heard your roommates talk about seeing you return to your room at the break of dawn. Fess up – did you seduce Potter?"

"Seduce?" the girl raised her eyebrows, looking a little threateningly at Malfoy. "Your James, as far as I know, was caught kissing Faust's niece in his fifth year!"

"The end of the fourth, actually," Scorpius was offended by this misrepresentation of his friend's track record. "And, besides, it was she who asked him to teach her how to kiss properly. He merely combined business with pleasure."

They fell quiet, as Xenia smiled derisively at the youth.

"Listen, I am at a loss: are you helping Lily for James' sake or do you like her?"

_There she goes again! Isn't she persistent! No wonder the Sorting Hat sent her to the Slytherin House._

"Listen, I must have missed the part where I told you I was helping Potter!" Malfoy bristled.

"My God, Scorpius, why are you so scared? What's so terrible in you liking her?" Xenia laughed. "Especially if you spent the night with her."

"I didn't spend the night with her!" Scorpius shouted, completely exasperated, jumping to his feet, "I clobbered her with an Imperius and made her eat and then go to bed, that's all!"

Xenia, incredulous, stared at the Slytherin in silence.

"Have you gone insane?" the girl whispered, finally. "Why?"

"Would you have preferred that your beloved's sister starved to death?" Scorpius retorted, sitting back down on the bench.

"I would have preferred that you used other methods," she said, trying to sound calm, looking warily at the Slytherin.

"My methods are what they are."

"You could have spoken to her…"

"You know what? If you are so smart, next time you do it, ok?" Scorpius said through clenched teeth, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin – on his hands. "I am a Malfoy! Not a Potter or a Weasley, with their tiptoeing around! And what were their kindness and scruples worth if the girl was wasting away?! What was their talking and hugging worth?!"

"Calm down!" Xenia looked at him, frightened. "Your being a Malfoy does not make you worse than anyone else. I am certain that you are just as capable of kindness and tenderness. Why do you talk about yourself like that?"

"Yes, I am capable," Malfoy muttered, averting his eyes. "And very sorry of that…"

He stood up abruptly, jumped over several rows of benches, and swiftly walked away from her, down the pitch, with Xenia thinking that he was trying to escape from himself, more so than her.

Malfoy walked on, boiling with rage. He snarled at a Second Year, which made him feel even worse. He turned onto a trail that led away from the castle, but then changed his mind and headed back, toward the lights burning in the castle windows.

Suddenly, he froze: Rose Weasley was ascending the stairs. They were back then.

"Hey, Weasley, wait!"

Rose stopped and stared with slight confusion at the Slytherin who was running toward her.

"What do you want?"

"Where are the Potters?"

Rose ran her tongue over her lips – Malfoy took in the bite marks on them, and the redness of her eyelids, and the lost look on her face, and the black, non-uniform, robes.

"They haven't returned yet."

"How are they?" the youth asked, almost in a whisper. All his anger evaporated at his once again coming in contact with their world, where they were trying to restore the crushed idyll. He merely touched this world – and the scent of grief enveloped him.

"In bad shape," Rose replied briefly.

"When will they be back?"

"I don't know," she shrugged her shoulders and walked away, wishing, apparently, to be alone. Scorpius followed her with his eyes, and then he ran up the steps, crossed the Entrance Hall, and headed for the Slytherin dungeons, where he would write a letter to his friend.

No condolences or pity. No, he would write about the Sytherin-Hufflepuff Quidditch game, where the latter had been crushed. He would tell James about the Potions class, where James' exploding cauldron was supplanted brilliantly by Emma Thomas' cauldron, leaving her covered in yellow slime. How, for the first time, Flitwick praised Malfoy's well-written essay, almost falling off his cushions.

In short, he would share with his friend his own world, and show him that life was not over. That he, Malfoy, was waiting for him; both he and Xenia. Yes, he must not forget to write about Xenia, Scorpius decided, as he grabbed a quill.


	30. Part III - Chapter 6 - Hermione Weasley

_**Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley.**_

Hermione woke up on Wednesday morning feeling as if she had not rested at all. This, however, was now normal for her, who had not been living but merely being for the past two weeks. Being there for the people she loved.

Strange, but in the days following Ginny's death, she got unused to waking up in her own bed: in the hospital hallway, at Harry's or Ron's bedside, in Arthur Weasley's living room – but not in her own home. She only came here to freshen up and change her clothes.

Hermione got out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. She had to make breakfast for Potters, who were now guests in her and Ron's home. And then she had to visit her husband who was still at St. Mungo's.

Yesterday she insisted that her children return to Hogwarts – it was safer there, the grief was not as palpable, and they were better off there in general. It would help Rose and Hugo take their mind off what had happened. As difficult as it was for Hermione to be without them, she knew that it was the right thing to do.

The woman stood beneath the refreshing shower jet, realizing that she missed her house, her bedroom, her bathroom; the comfort and coziness it provided ever since Ron brought her here for the first time, almost eighteen years ago.

Hermione dried off, got dressed, and hurried into the kitchen in order to make Lily and James breakfast before they went back to Hogwarts.

To her surprise, she smelled the aroma of coffee and toast emanating from the kitchen. Hermione walked in and saw Lily standing by the stove and James sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.

"Good morning, guys," Hermione attempted to smile genuinely at her niece and nephew.

"Hey, Hermione," the two Potters replied dully.

"Why up so early?" Hermione walked over to the refrigerator to take out cheese and butter for sandwiches. Their eyes told her that they never went to bed at all. Must have been sitting awake in Hugo's room all night long, again.

On Monday, after Ginny's funeral, they returned to _The Burrow_, but in the evening the question of where to stay overnight came up. And Hermione, knowing that there was no way Harry would go back to his house, offered to stay at her and Ron's. And Potters stayed with her. Hermione was glad – the cozy cottage did not seem as empty. Returning home after a long day in the hospital or at work was more meaningful when she knew that there was someone there who needed her; judging by Lily and James' behaviour, however, that seemed doubtful at times.

"Lily, do you need help?" Hermione walked up to the girl who was cooking eggs; with bacon and tomatoes, the way Harry liked it.

"No," Lily shook her head. Hermione sighed and sat down at the table, folding her hands in front of her; she didn't know what else to do with them. "Will you be going to see Uncle Ron today?"

"Yes, I shall stop by my job and then go to the hospital," Hermione pursed her lips. They only spoke to her about Ron, nothing else. She, on the other hand, didn't want to talk about her husband as part of smalltalk; especially not with two teenagers.

Harry, still sleepy, walked into the kitchen. He looked rested; his eyes behind the glasses looked on calmly, without the anguish that was in them the day of Ginny's funeral.

"Good morning, Daddy," Lily hugged him and kissed his cheek. "Sit down, I have made your favorite breakfast."

Hermione watched the girl fussing over her father, handing him the napkin, pouring his coffee. She absent-mindedly smeared butter on her toast.

"Thank you, Lil," Harry briefly hugged his daughter by the waist and began eating. Lily sat down opposite her father and watched him eat.

"Children, you need to hurry; they are waiting for you at the school," Hermione reminded as she finished her toast, and got up to pour herself tea. Both nodded simultaneously, but did not reply. "Professor McGonagall will open her fireplace only briefly so that you are able to enter the castle. You know that the school is now under heightened security alert…"

"Hermione is right," Harry finally spoke. Lily looked at her father, then walked over to him and hugged him.

"Daddy, can't we stay with you? We will catch up on schoolwork later…"

"No, Lily. We have talked about it," Harry shook his head, covering her hands with his. Hermione agreed with her friend – the children would not be helping, but causing only more pain for Harry, and more worry; while at Hogwarts they would be safe.

Lily nodded obediently, kissed the black-haired top of her father's head, and left the kitchen. Without a single word, James followed after her. Silence fell. Harry was staring down at his unfinished breakfast.

"It was the first time she made my favorite eggs," he muttered, puzzled, looking up at his friend. "Why?"

"I think she was trying to show you that even without… Ginny there are people who will take care of you. So that you wouldn't feel lonely," Hermione shrugged her shoulders, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Harry smiled bitterly:

"Great. It is I who should be taking care of them, not the other way around."

"They love you, Harry. And they worry. And… they saw you in the cemetery," Hermione added quietly. Harry flinched, and she regretted saying that.

"All right," he got up and thrust his hand into his disheveled hair. "I shall go and prod them along."

Hermione nodded, watching her friend leave the kitchen. _How complicated it all is!_ And then there was Ron. Harry asked about him a few times, and Hermione responded with deliberately vague phrases, so as not to make her friend worry. After the funeral Potters did not say much at all, each one dealing with their grief in their own way.

Hermione downed the rest of her tea, put the cup in the sink – it immediately began washing itself – and walked up to the bedroom. She had to make it to her office – Kingsley had called her in.

When she came back downstairs, Harry was the only one standing by the fireplace – with the look of a man who had been left missing something important.

"They have gone already?" Hermione asked in surprise, looking at the waning flame in the fireplace. Harry merely nodded, walking over to the couch and sitting down. "Did they say goodbye to Albus?"

Harry nodded again, and Hermione, a little offended, thought that they didn't even think about saying goodbye to her.

"Hermione, thank you for taking us in…"

She looked up at her friend in surprise.

"Harry, you are a friend of ours! We are always happy to have you and your children."

"I know," he wasn't looking at her. "How is Ron? Why aren't they letting him go?"

"They running some tests," Hermione said vaguely. She expected more questions, thought that Harry would be suspicious – after all, he saw Ron at the funeral – but Harry merely nodded. He had never been so inattentive to his best friend. "All right, I have to go. You and Al, please, feel yourselves at home."

Harry nodded again. Hermione sighed heavily and also stepped into the fireplace, uttering the password that let her into the Ministry Floo network. Since the attack on the Potters, the security had been tightened wherever possible.

Hermione walked across the Atrium and into the elevator. The thoughts of Harry and his children were replaced by thoughts of Ron. Had she ever thought that she would once be a werewolf's wife? And not just an ordinary werewolf…

She exited the elevator and hurried down the hall to the Auror Office where Kingsley, for some reason, was waiting for her.

She was trying to suppress the feeling of panic because for the first time in her life she didn't know how to behave around her husband; the closest, the dearest.

Ron. So warm; occasionally, quite insufferable; sometimes incredibly dear; tactless, but caring; always trying to be serious, and always failing at it, even at his mature age.

Their family life always seemed to Hermione a bit of a rollercoaster ride: up – down; up again – down again. First he would get mad because of not being let in on a secret; next he would be apologizing for putting pressure on his wife; now he would complain about Hermione working too much; then he would be telling her how proud he was for her dedication to her profession. All of that was her Ron, the man she loved. She loved every freckle on his nose, and even his silly habit of balling up his socks.

Hermione entered the department and nodded at the guard, who waved at her affably. Kingsley's office was not far from Harry's.

"Hello, come on in," the Head of the Auror Office invited his visitor to sit down. He looked bright and smart, as always, which Hermione could not say about herself. "How are things going?"

"All right. It would have been better without a crowd of your people overruning the cemetery." Hermione sat down and looked across the desk at Kingsley.

"I am doing my job," the Auror shrugged his shoulders, tossing aside the quill.

"Why did you call me in? Anything new?" Hermione looked pointedly at her watch – she had promised Ron to be there at eleven. It seemed likely, however, that the summons had to do with Ron anyway.

A week before her boss and the Head of the Auror Office decided that someone from the Department of the Magical Law Enforcement should be attached to the workgroup that was dealing with the now very public case of the werewolves. And since Hermione was already in the loop, she was assigned to Kingsley.

"The final analysis results came in," the Auror nodded curtly, leaning forward. "It's been confirmed – only one of those captures was an escapee from Azkaban. Two are brand new; even the bite marks haven't healed yet."

"Merlin," Hermione whispered. "There may be dozens of them, right?!"

"Yes, it is quite possible. There were six who attacked the Muggle village, plus a pack of wolves. Therefore, we have four in the Diagon Alley; six in the village; and at least one in Hogsmead."

Hermione was silent, because there was nothing to say.

"What are the captives saying?" she forced out, finally.

"Nothing coherent," Kingsley put the documents on his desk into a neat pile. "Two are Muggles, and that is good news."

"Meaning?"

"Muggles will not be able to withstand the dose of dark magic that they received through the bite. There strength is waning," the Auror remarked. "I am certain, however, that the man behind this group was not aware of this fact."

"But, Kingsley! When they do find out, they will start attacking wizards!" Hermione stood up.

"Yes, but this will make it easier for us to track them."

"Do you understand what you are saying? You believe it is good news that you will be able to collect more information when attacks on wizards start? You are glad that the Muggle-werewolves cannot survive?"

Kingsley also got to his feet, pressing his palms into his desktop:

"Hermione, I never thought that having been Harry Potter's friend for all these years and having survived the crucible of the war with Voldemort would leave you ignorant of the fact that, in a struggle, someone has to be sacrificed. And, besides, we don't have a choice. Right now we are merely following our enemies, tracking their bloody footprints, analyzing their habits and abilities…"

"I have an idea as to your analysis methodology," Hermione snorted. "Do you have anything else for me, or can I go now?"

"Go. I shall call you if I need you. And meanwhile, think about the information I just gave you. About how it can be used…"

Hermione nodded and hurried out of Kingsley's office. A short time later she walked out of the fireplace in the front hall of the St. Mungo's hospital where she had practically lived for a week and afterwards then has been spending a lot of time with her husband in his room.

Two Aurors were posted at Ron's door; one of them had accompanied her husband to the cemetery. Hermione nodded curtly, and entered the now familiar room.

Ron lay on the bed, staring idly at the ceiling.

"Hey," she walked over to him and sat down. Pale, he was so pale; and getting paler with each passing day. "How are you?"

"No change," Ron sat up and let his wife kiss him.

"What do the Healers say?"

"Nothing. 'We have to observe you; your wounds may reopen'," Ron mocked his Healer, and then ripped open his pajama top, demonstrating pale scars on his shoulder and neck.

Hermione put her arms soothingly around him.

"It will all work out. What if they do just want to observe you?"

"Hermione, sweetheart, you don't believe that yourself. The full moon is in four days. You do realize why they won't let me go, don't you?" Ron was threading his fingers through her hair.

"Maybe…"

"It may not, Hermione, trust me," he shook his head and leaned back onto the pillow. "I feel caged in here. I am just an animal to them, a lab animal. Like that boy…"

"What boy?" Hermione asked in sudden alarm.

"There is another guarded room at the end of the hallway. The patient there is a Muggle boy who was also bitten by those monsters."

"How do you know?"

"I was there. Those Ministry rats were trying to establish contact with him, but he became very angry each time and transformed uncontrollably. That is why, in their infinite wisdom, they decided that I, as a kin of sorts, would be able to help them tame the boy so they could experiment with him."

"Ron, they don't have the right to run experiments on him!"

"Hermione, you have worked there for so many years; haven't you realized that they are willing to use any means to achieve their ends?" Ron's eyes flashed with savage rage. "They told the boy's parents that he had died, and are holding him here. And me too."

"Ron, I won't let them..!"

"Hermione, darling, they won't ask for your permission," Ron said dejectedly, pulling her close. She snuggled up to him, feeling at the verge of tears. As terrible as it was to believe, Ron was most likely correct. "I spoke to that boy; his name is Fred."

"What?" Hermione flinched, but her husband held her still.

"Yes, Fred; he is nine, and he is very scared," Ron rested his chin on the top of her head, stroking her back. "And I am scared too. Do you know if it is painful?"

Hermione knew what he was talking about.

"They say that it is, but, Ron, they have to give you the potion!" her husband snorted, and Hermione managed to pull out of his embrace. "I will bring you the Wolfsbane Potion myself! I won't let you suffer."

"All right, you do that. Tomorrow. Don't visit me afterwards."

"What?" she looked at Ron. "Why?"

"I don't want you to see me like that…"

"But, Ron…"

"Don't come," her husband said firmly. "I will write to you when it is safe to visit."

"Ron!"

"Hermione, please, I am begging you not to come," her husband eyes were pleading with her. "You and the children are my biggest treasure. I don't want to risk any you. I don't want to end up like Harry…"

He fell silent. Hermione nodded slowly and once again pressed close to her husband's broad chest. His heart was thumping against her ear.

"I feel like something alien is rising inside me," Ron muttered. "It is as if there is a beast that is waiting to wake up, and sometimes I crave raw meat. Like Bill, remember?"

Hermione nodded, suppressing her horror. She immediately remembered Remus Lupin transforming into a monster before her. And Fenrir Grayback, with bloody saliva on his lips. She shuddered involuntarily.

"I can bring you meat…"

"Don't. They give it to me now; even raw," Ron chuckled. Hermione jumped. "Yes, I believe this is part of their initial experiments."

"Ron, we have to do something! We need to get you out of here!"

"They won't let you. Charlie has already tried," Ron shook his head. "Don't you worry. I will think of something. I have a request for you though…"

"Anything."

"Tell me what you know about the werewolves that bit me. As I understand, they are not just ordinary werewolves, are they?" Ron's narrowed eyes were looking straight at his wife. "Tell me. I have to know."

"All right," Hermione nodded, knowing that he was right. He had to know, no matter how hard it was. She couldn't be like Harry, hiding everything from his loved ones. She couldn't make the same mistake and lose what she loved most. She believed that, together, she and Ron would find a way out.


	31. Part III - Chapter 7 - Teddy Remus Lupin

_**Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin.**_

Lupin had barely returned to his job and settled down in his favorite chair to read the next issue of a small local newspaper "All about gnomes" (Teddy had never seen anything more ridiculous in his life) when someone knocked on the door.

Standing in the doorway, her hair more unruly than usual, was Hermione, who appeared to be beside herself with anxiety.

"Teddy, do you know where Harry is?" she asked as she rushed toward him. She looked disappointed at not finding her friend there.

"Yes, I do," Lupin responded calmly, folding the newspaper and rising to greet Hermione. "What happened?"

"I need him, right away! And, by the way, where is he? I stopped by the house, and Angelina said that Harry had asked her to baby-sit Albus while he went to see you," Hermione's hands shook a little; she was clearly worried.

"We parted about an hour ago," Lupin shrugged his shoulders, not seeing any reasons to panic. "Harry said that he was going to stop by his place to pick up some things for himself and Albus."

"An hour?! At his place?! Teddy, how could you let him go alone?! I can't believe it…" the woman moaned, as she slumped into a chair; then she jumped to her feet. "Why didn't you go with him?!"

"Hermione, he didn't ask me. I guess, he needs to deal with it himself; to be alone with it, so to speak. I know Harry; it is easier for him to do it that way," Lupin looked into Hermione's concerned face. "What happened?"

"You mean, aside from him being who knows where, alone, for a whole hour?" Hermione retorted, heading for the door. "Besides, I need him. Right away!"

"Wait!" Lupin hurried after her, locking his door on his way out, forgetting his jacket. "Hermione, what happened?"

She merely waved him off, marching down the hallway to the fireplace. Lupin watched her disappear in a whirl of green flames, cursed under his breath, and followed after her, calling out the Potters' home address.

When Ted stepped out of the fireplace, Hermione was standing hesitantly in the hallway. The woman smiled faintly. It must not have been easy for her either to be entering the house still permeated with Ginny's presence; like a haunted house.

"Let's go," Lupin nudged Hermione toward the door. Ted was sure that Harry would not have left and kept the fireplace portal open, no matter how unbearable his own house now felt to him. If they were able to enter, then his godfather was still here.

They walked into the living room where nothing has changed since Ginny and Ron left it; only a layer of dust covered all surfaces, giving the room an unlived-in, even surreal look. It was as if the coziness and warmth left it along with Ginny.

They found Harry in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, his head resting on his arms. Next to him was an almost empty bottle of Firewhiskey and a glass. On the stool sat a bag, presumably, with things for which Harry came to the house; the house that has now become yet another little piece of Harry Potter's personal hell.

Hermione was right, after all – he should have gone with Harry. Ted knew, however, that his godfather would not have wanted this. He was used to dealing with his problems by himself. Harry Potter was used to being strong even if no one expected it from him, let alone required.

The owner of the house had passed out cold from the drink; he was snoring slightly. Hermione touched his shoulder, calling his name. No response.

"Harry! Harry, please!" she shook him more forcefully, but the only result was his head slipping off his arms and knocking on the table. The woman looked helplessly at Lupin.

"He just needs to sleep it off," Ted waved his wand, sending the glass in the kitchen sink and the bottle – into the locked cabinet where Ginny usually kept alcohol.

"Teddy, you don't understand! We don't have time!" Hermione was panicking. "I need Harry's help, right now! Every hour counts!"

"What…?"

"Ron! He is in trouble! And without Harry I can't come up with anything! And he…" the woman was ready to burst into tears. She was clearly at the end of her rope. This was not surprising – she had been carrying a huge burden of responsibility for the past two weeks. Lupin had no idea how she managed.

"All right, then we need the Sobering Potion," Teddy walked over to his godfather and looked into his sleeping face.

"Accio Potion!" Hermione, as usual, chose the simplest solution. However, such potion appeared to not be in stock in the Potter household. "I have it at home!"

"Then we have two options: we move Harry to the potion or the potion – to Harry," Lupin would have picked the latter, but judging by the resolve written on Hermione's face, the simplest solution was not to be.

"We need to get him out of here," she said firmly. "Because…"

Ted understood what she wanted to say. Harry would not be of any use in this house and, judging by Hermione's near-panic state, she needed serious help.

"All right, let's Apparate," Lupin agreed with a sigh and, once the decision was made, launched into action. He took a glass, filled it with cold water and… poured it all squarely onto his godfather's head.

"Teddy!" Hermione jumped, but the young man merely grinned. Harry stirred, mumbling something in annoyance.

"Here, Harry, we need to take a little walk," Lupin ducked under the arm of his godfather, who seemed a little more lucid now, and hauled him to his feet. Saying that Harry was standing would be an exaggeration, however – he was literally draped over Lupin, refusing to stand upright.

Hermione put the bag that Harry had prepared over one shoulder, slung Harry's second arm over the other, and did her best to help Lupin navigate the inebriated Harry from the kitchen to the front door. They nearly crashed down the front steps, had Lupin not managed to grab hold of the railing. Then Hermione let go of her friend's arm and they Apparated, Teddy holding on firmly to his godfather.

In ten minutes, their mission had been successfully accomplished. Lupin promptly settled Harry down on the couch in Hermione's living room, while she hurried into the kitchen for the potion that was locked safely in a cabinet.

A note on the table informed them that Angelina had taken Albus to Mr. Weasley. This was for the better; the boy should not be seeing his father in this state.

Hermione returned with a goblet filled with unpleasant-looking liquid, which she carefully forced Harry to drink. He resisted fiercely at first, but then gulped it down obediently. In a couple of minutes he opened his eyes and cast a perfectly lucid glance over the room and his friends who were watching him.

"Sorry, Harry, that we didn't let you go wool-gathering, but this was necessary," Hermione, a little annoyed, lowered herself in the chair opposite Harry. Lupin leaned against a bookshelf, watching his confused godfather.

"What's wrong with you, Hermione?" Harry rubbed his face and stared at his friend. She really did not look well.

"Harry, Ron is in trouble," she said tragically, getting to her feet and pacing. "We have to get him out of the hospital."

"Wait," Harry shook his head – the potion must not have removed all symptoms of inebriation. "What do you mean by 'get him out of the hospital'?"

Hermione sighed deeply, apparently, preparing herself for a long explanation:

"Harry, Ron was bitten, he is a werewolf…"

"I know," Harry said bitterly. "This did not stand in Remus' way, for example…"

"Harry, he is not an ordinary werewolf and you know it! And, unfortunately, so does the Ministry…"

It seemed that Ted's godfather was beginning to catch on. He was looking wide-eyed at Hermione, waiting for her to continue. By now, Lupin had an idea of what could have made Hermione panic. Especially with only three days remaining until the full moon.

"I went to Ron today to bring him the Wolfsbane Potion," Hermione was pacing up and down the room, wringing her hands. "But they didn't allow me in. They said that it wasn't allowed."

"Why?"

"How do I know?!" she retorted, turning abruptly toward Harry. "Well, no, I do know. Or, rather, I can guess. Ron told me that they would not let him go, that someone at the Ministry wanted him."

"Damn!" Harry jumped to his feet and punched the wall with his fist.

"Ron has generally recovered, but they are not releasing him. He thought that they wanted to see him at full moon and he was very wary. I brought him the Potion because he was certain that they wouldn't give it to him…"

"Bastards…" Harry was pale. Lupin knew that his godfather was not going to yell "they don't have the right" and "this is not legal". Harry Potter knew very well what the Ministry was capable of.

"When they didn't let me in, I went to Kingsley at once, since it was his Aurors guarding Ron," Hermione continued, strangely comforted by the sight of incensed Harry.

"Kingsly can't do anything," Harry shook his head, apparently knowing ahead of time what his boss would have said.

Hermione nodded:

"He said that only those with a permit from the Minister of Magic himself could visit Ron. And, Harry, he hinted that after the full moon Ron would be beyond help…" Hermione pleading gaze was fixed on her friend.

"Why, I wonder?" Lupin asked, scratching his nose – he always did it when he was at a loss.

"I can guess at the reason," Hermione responded weakly. "I have put the facts together…"

Harry sat down and looked attentively at Hermione.

"Firstly, the full moon is coming soon, and they will most likely not give Ron the potion. They will let him become an animal. Secondly, they let Ron meet a Muggle boy who was bitten by just such a werewolf. He is also held in a guarded hospital room."

Harry gulped and blanched a little.

"What?" Teddy asked, frightened by his godfather's ovious distress.  
"I know that boy. I carried him to the hospital myself," Harry forced out, and then looked at Hermione, ready for her to continue.

"Thirdly, Kingsley said that Muggles bitten by such werewolves do not survive. Their strength wanes gradually, and they die. So, the question is: why would they let Ron meet this boy? And why is the Ministry holding a boy who will die anyway? They have others to observe, after all."

Lupin was following Hermione's train of thought intently, amazed that she was capable of cold clear logic while her husband was in danger.

"So, taking into account all that Kingsley told me – about the ability to control the werewolf created by Voldemort – we can suppose that the Ministry is itching to get their hands on just such a tamed werewolf. And Ron, in their opinion, is just what the doctor ordered."

"And so they need to find a way to control him," Harry nodded. "To make him collaborate with them."

Hermione nodded:

"Yes. And I am even sure that I know how they plan to do that. They will sacrifice the boy who is as good as dead anyway, make it look as though Ron is dangerous, and threaten him with Azkaban. It will be a choice between Azkaban and work for the Ministry."

"They don't know Ron," Harry grinned bitterly. "He will choose Azkaban."

"Harry! What does it matter what Ron chooses?!" Hermione cried, throwing up her hands. "We have to get him out of the hospital before he is even presented with this choice! We have to get him out and hide him!"

For a moment Lupin felt as though the world had gone crazy; because Hermione's conclusions should have appeared ludicrous, but for some reason they were all too easily believable.

When has it happened? When has the wizarding world, full of kindness and light after the defeat of Voldemort, become like this? So ugly! Was it what Teddy's parents died for? Did they fight for the Ministry to create an army of werewolves, sacrificing the interests of wizards, bending them to its will, blackmailing, placing them before horrible choices? When has the wonderful world become monstrous?"

"Hermione," Harry walked up to her and took her hands in his. "I will think of something. _We_ will think of something, I promise you. I shall not allow Ron to be used. Trust me."

Teddy saw the familiar spark in his godfather's eyes. He saw it for the first time since Ginny had died. This was Harry Potter in a nutshell: just give him a chance to save someone, help someone, and personal trials became secondary. He was ready to throw himself into the fray, to fight for truth and honor, even though not an hour ago he was drowning his grief in a bottle of Firewhiskey.

Teddy shook his head, staring down. _What kind of a world is this, where its savior has to once again fight for himself and for his friends; descend once again into his personal hell where is now alone?!_ Teddy thought dejectedly that this must be Harry Potter's fate – to be heroic and instill justice out of the hell of his personal memories. And no one could spare his grandfather that fate; no one could shield him from it. Ginny alone could once, but she was gone now.

"Ted," Lupin surfaced from his bitter reverie and looked at Harry. "We will need your help."

"Of course, Harry, you know you can count on me," Lupin nodded, stepping toward his godfather, glad to do anything to assist him on his arduous path.


	32. Part III - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Chapter 8. The Potters.**_

James came to breakfast in the Great Hall feeling a little jaded after a restless night. Out of habit, he glanced at the Slytherin table – Xenia waved to him, and Malfoy saluted him with a fork.

The Gryffindor plopped down on the bench, deciding what he wanted to eat, while still thinking about his last night's visitors, whom he hadn't seen for a while. Perhaps, because he had been getting much sleep, and when he had, it was dreamless.

James decided on toast with marmalade and began devouring them, hoping that his appetite would distract him from the unpleasant aftertaste of his dream. He very much wanted to forget the tears in the doe's eyes, because it was the second most horrible sight after his father, at the cemetery.

"James, are you all right?" Lily sat down next to him. The Gryffindor noted that her cheeks lost their colour and her eyes – these astounding eyes that were always so full of joie de vivre – looked more like bottomless pools of despair.

"Yes, all is well," he nodded, smiling at his sister in a bid to cheer her up.

"Your tie is loose," she reached out and began tying a tidy knot. Her fingers were cold, which reminded him of Xenia, of their silent seclusion in the Room of Requirement, where, if only for a little while, he felt perfectly happy; happy, despite everything. His father must have felt like this when he was with his mother – as if they were the only two people in the world; and nothing and nobody else mattered. "James, what's with your face?"

"What?" the youth frowned fiercely under his sister's mockingly-suspicious gaze.

"Nothing really, except you were just looking like you had seen an angel," she shrugged her shoulders and looked around to see the reason for her brother's face turning so… happy?

"Well, I am sitting with you, after all," James joked, putting his arm around his sister's shoulders. "How did you sleep?"

Lily flinched and nearly dropped the spoon she had just picked up from the table:

"All right," she said slowly, averting her eyes.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," James said reproachfully, but he didn't probe further. He finished his toast and was just about to start on the pudding when Malfoy sat down next to him.

"Potter, I see that your breakfast will transition smoothly into lunch."

"Don't look at me or I shall choke," James chortled, putting a dollop in his mouth. He followed Lily with his eyes as she hastily, without looking at either her brother or his friend, got to her feet, grabbed her bag, and hurried from the Hall.

"Are you going to class or will you be rehearsing the role of a doleful ghost again?"

"Envy in silence," James pushed away his plate and bent down for his backpack. "Just admit it: you are simply tired of looking like the idiot on duty in Flitwick's class, aren't you?"

"No, I simply miss your cauldron, with its tendency to burp bits of potions," Malfoy answered as they were ascending the stairs. "Alright then, see you in Charms."

James nodded and trudged to the History of Magic class, anticipating a full hour of peace and light somnolence to the rustling of Binns' voice. He eagerly sat down at his desk – for even a desk becomes yours after you have slept on it for seven years – tossed down his backpack, and only then it occurred to him – Xenia.

"Hello," she smiled softly at him (how could he have ever thought her smile frigid?!) and sat down next to him, taking out her quill and parchement. She then turned toward him, still smiling. "How are you?"

"Better now," James took her hand – it was cold. "I missed you."

"Me, too."

The Gryffindor squeezed her hand.

The Ghost-Professor glided into the classroom, the students became quiet, the quills began to squeak. James lay down on the desk, as usual, but he didn't let go of Xenia's hand. It probably was not very convenient for her to be writing without holding down the parchment, but she didn't say anything. He ran his fingers over hers, wondering if they were ever going to get warmer. He suddenly felt as though they were alone together again. He wanted to be alone with her – even if only to be, to sit next to her, feeling her presence.

Yesterday, when Lily and he returned to school, James spent almost all day with Malfoy in the secret room behind the tapestry, where they drank a bottle of stashed Firewhiskey. Only once did they break the silence since pouring the amber liquid into the glasses. "Farewell, Momma," James whispered, and they drank. Afterwards, they simply sat next to each other, thinking their own thoughts. They parted after midnight. This was why the Gryffindor only saw Xenia in passing yesterday.

Today, however, they had a whole hour together. James lightly traced his fingertips along her palm, smiling blissfully into the desktop.

"I am glad to see you smiling," she whispered, looking up from her notes. Her golden hair fell over her face and she pushed it away with her free hand. "Yesterday, it seemed to me as though you would never be able to smile again.

"I thought so, too," James replied, placing her hand on his knee and covering it with his own.

"How is Lily?"

James shrugged his shoulders vaguely, which didn't come out well since he was still lying on the desk, unwilling to disturb his comfortable position and the serene atmosphere with sudden movements.

"Do you know if anything happened between her and Scorpius?"

"Like what?" Xenia raised her blonde eyebrows as she stared at the Gryffindor.

"Well, it looked to me like they had had a row, because Lily was scowling at him and seemed to be even avoiding him," James remarked, pleased at feeling the girl's hand on his knee beginning to warm up.

"James, I think she is like that with everyone right now," Xenia tickled his nose with her quill. He twitched in annoyance and she laughed quietly.

"I guess," the Gryffindor agreed somewhat reluctantly. He would have liked to dismiss the thoughts of his sister for now, but he couldn't. Because, even if he tried, he couldn't forget _that_ day and place, and Lily's horrible cry "Momma!", and her weeping and apathy that were replaced by frenetic activity. James worried – because he had Xenia who made him feel better, but Lily didn't have anyone here but her brother. Of course, she had Rose, with whom she had always been close, but they didn't seem to be spending much time together these days… It was as if Lily separated herself from everyone, to be alone with her grief. She stopped going to the library, mentoring younger students, and even simply chat with their cousins or gossip, if nothing else! She was a girl, after all…

James felt Xenia's hot hand, concentrated on her face and the squeak of her quill and, unexpectedly for him, drifted off to sleep.

He saw the lakeshore and the full moon, and the hillside. The big black dog with weary, sad blue eyes was sitting there. He was looking, not at James, as usual, but to the side. James turned and saw what had drawn the dog's attention. His sister was standing under the familiar tree. It was the first time Lily appeared in such a dream of his. And she looked so scared and so terribly vulnerable that James wanted to run to her, yet he couldn't. And then, suddenly, a figure clad in a dark cloak and mask approached her.

To his surprise, Lily did not seem afraid of him. The man walked up to her and stood before her, as if shielding her from everything around; as if… protecting? At that moment Lily reached out and ripped off the hood and the mask from the man before her. She looked – and shrieked.

"Ms. Potter! Lily!"

She opened her eyes. The entire class was staring at her. Professor Vector was walking swiftly down the aisle toward her.

"Miss Potter, are you alright? Why did you scream?" the Arithmancy teacher asked gently. "Maybe you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"No, no," Lily protested, trying to shake off her dream. "I simply… well, I fell asleep, Professor; I am sorry."

Vector looked suspiciously at her student and, apparently deciding that she was indeed alright, headed back to the blackboard to continue writing out a formula.

"Professor," Lily raised her hand. "May I be excused?"

"Yes, of course. Are you sure that you don't need help?"

"Yes," the girl hastily grabbed her bag and left the classroom, followed by her classmates' compassionate stares. She crossed the hallway and leaned wearily against the window sill, her heart still beating frantically in her chest. She fell asleep during an Arithmancy lesson – that, in itself, was alarming. And then her dream… For the first time there was a strange sad-eyed dog in it – with bright blue eyes, human-like demeanor and somehow very familiar! And James was there with that dog. And for the first time she managed to rip the mask off the face of the mysterious protector from her dreams. She wished she hadn't done it. Because that face…

"Potter, why are you here?"

Lily recoiled, dropping her bag and almost falling herself. In a single bound, Malfoy was at her side and steadied her. Lily jerked her elbow out of his grasp and stepped back to a safe distance.

"Malfoy, are you stalking me?" she snapped at the Slytherin. Scorpius raised one eyebrow, looking a little derisively at the girl.

"Of course. I was certain that you would be here, hanging out by the boy's bathroom," he chortled, nodding toward a door near them. "I thought, 'let me go check on Potter peeping at boys through the keyhole'."

"Why are you pursuing me? What do you want?" Lily suddenly asked almost in a whisper, pressing her hands to her throat, as if she had trouble breathing.

"Potter, have you turned paranoid?" Scorpius inquired carefully, slowly approaching. "What nonsense is this?"

"I can't do this any longer; leave me alone," she begged, "I don't want this anymore… why?!"

Malfoy gripped her shoulders just in time – Lily was about to turn and run off. He grabbed her to shake her up, to demand explanations to the rubbish she was spouting; grabbed her with a clear purpose in mind.

Yet, for the second time when he was next to this girl, he lost clarity of purpose as soon as he looked into her eyes. Anyone could drown in the wave of bitterness that rose in those eyes; anyone, but Scorpius Malfoy. He jerked her toward him, his arm wrapped tightly around her, his other arm stroking her red hair. She didn't protest, didn't resist – she stood still, her face buried in his shoulder.

How many times had she been in his arms over the last few days? Was it to be his cross to bear then – to be there for this little girl lost in the ruins of her world? Before… before she was merry, always busy doing something, brave… And now – she was just a girl who seemed to have lost herself…

"Mr. Malfoy…"

They both started at the sound of a familiar voice. Professor Longbottom stood at the bottom of the stairs. He didn't immediately realize who the Slytherin was holding in his arms, until Lily drew back sharply, and Neville dropped the potted plant that he had been carrying.

"Sorry, Professor," the girl muttered and took off down the hallway as if pursued by angry centaurs. Scorpius pursed his lips and looked at the flabbergasted Professor of Herbology with a most innocent expression on his face.

"Mr. Malfoy, go back to your classroom."

Scorpius nodded, turned, and went up the stairs; only a couple of minutes later he remembered why he had gone out into the hallway in the first place. He cursed and went back.

The Gryffindor's bag still lay on the floor by the window. Malfoy walked past it with the utmost Malfoyish expression on his face – he had had enough! – but something inside Scorpius Malfoy must no longer have been under his command. _Must be the Potter's influence_, the Slytherin thought crossly, gripped his teeth, and grabbed Lily Potter's bag.

Well, he would wait until later to take out his frustration on that brother of hers for their family's quest of reshaping a normal Slytherin into yet another Gryffindor, with their freaking noble principle of "helping thy neighbor".

And, meanwhile, there he was, standing in the middle of the hallway with Lily's bag in his hands, unsure of what to do with it. Scorpius Malfoy did not know what to do!

_You just wait, Potters, you shall answer for this!_

**Well, this concludes Part III. It is interesting that "The Potters" chapters are including more and more of Malfoy's perspective... ;) I DO think that Scorpius is the author's favorite character. Because he is mine, too! :)**


	33. Part IV - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**Part Four. Tearing the Cocoon**

**_Chapter 1. James Potter._**

Life appeared to be getting back to normal. At least, a school day didn't seem any different from those before his mother died. He slept through the History of Magic (if only it wasn't that strange dream!), got "Poor" at Charms (which was quite an achievement, considering his nearly two weeks of absence), managed to get the potion to assume the expected colour (if only it didn't reek of burnt toadstools, it would have been perfect).

After a satisfying dinner, which James spent contemplating on whether he should tell Malfoy about his strange dream or not, they both dragged their feet to the joint study room where Scorpius managed to catch his friend up on what he had missed in class.

The joint study room had been established about ten years ago with the intent that students from different Houses could do their homework together and simply socialize. In fact, it was usually used by seniors for dating purposes and by younger students – for loud and secret magical duels between representatives of different Houses. It was here that the now legendary duel between Malfoy and Potter, Sr.s took place. Nevertheless, the two friends did not come here often.

For two hours they had been struggling with casting multiple spells simultaneously that was now being covered in Charms. James was ready to howl, while Scorpius merely smirked maliciously as he patiently observed his friend's futile efforts.

"Flitwick was surely jesting!" James watched his rope drop to the floor, cut in two. "How is it possible to hold it in the air and simultaneously cut it, and all that while using non-verbal spells?!"

And, indeed, the Gryffindor managed to either keep his rope airborne in one piece or sever it, with halves dropping to the floor. He could not do both. Malfoy, however, ignoring his friend's outburst, gave his wand an easy wave, stared intently at his rope, and voila! – it hovered above the desk and broke in two halves that still continued to levitate.

"That's it, I feel like a complete…"

"It's not just a feeling," Malfoy grinned, climbing down from the desk upon which he had been sitting, and putting away his wand. "Let's take a walk before supper; I am tired of watching these walls and your depressed visage. And it's not like you had just realized that you were a complete and total blockhead; you…"

"Malfoy, it's only the simultaneous spells that I am having a problem with; I manage them perfectly in succession; so, if I were you, I would change the tune," James sent the pieces of the long-suffering rope into the waste basket in one fluid movement, and also stood up. "Let's go, it is time, indeed, to stretch our legs."

They walked outside, inhaling the frosty air. Fallen leaves crunched underfoot. The Forbidden Forest seemed like a dark wall in the distance. There was almost no one in the yard – many were still in class. In a distance, a group of fifth years were standing next to a small enclosure, apparently, looking at unicorns.

"Listen, Malfoy, do you think there is such a thing as prophetic dreams?" James finally blurted out as they were walking down the trail toward the lake.

"Well, I think that if Mars, having gotten sloshed, jumped into the Venus' third house, and if Venus happened to be at home and was in the mood…" Malfoy began, lifting his face toward the slowly darkening sky.

"Malfoy, I am serious," the Gryffindor frowned.

"Potter, if you are, indeed, serious, you need to go directly to St. Mungo's; only Trelawney alone is entitled to ask such questions seriously," the Slytherin snorted, sitting down on his favorite stump near the lake.

James remained standing, with his hands thrust into his robes pockets:

"Malfoy, really, I am quite in earnest."

"Well, really, I… don't know," Scorpius shrugged his shoulders, staring at James. "Why, are you aiming for the Dragonfly's spot?"

The Gryffindor stared at his shoes:

"It's just that I fell asleep today in the History of Magic class…"

"Yes, that was quite auspicious. Must have been Mars and his trivial pursuits…" Malfoy grinned, ready to expand on his favorite topic, but he broke off under James' ferocious glare.

"So, I fell asleep. And began dreaming. In the beginning, the dream was quite ordinary. You know, the ones that I usually have," James wasn't sure how else to explain it.

"You know, I thought that since Xenia and you hooked up, you stopped having your _usual_ dreams…" Scorpius interjected with a nasty smirk, unable to help himself.

"Will you let me finish or not?!" James exploded. Malfoy made big eyes and bit his lip, indicating that he was all attention. "So, first it was a usual dream, my dream. And then… it was as if I was moved into someone else's dream. Lily's."

"Aha!" Malfoy animatedly drew forward. "I have always fantasized of finding out what girls dream about. So who was she dreaming about? Gregory?"

"Of, stop it," James was beginning to get really irritated. He knew that he sounded as if he spoke nonsense and that Malfoy was not taking him seriously. Especially since he mentioned Gregory. The entire school knew that ever since the Hogsmead trip, Lily was avoiding him. There were tons of different hypotheses, hardly any of them close to the truth. "Anyway, I saw her. And a man with her."

"Gregory, was it?" drawled Malfoy, leaning back against the tree trunk next to him.

"No, Malfoy, not Gregory. It was you in her dream," James finally delivered the punchline and smiled, happy with the effect. Taken aback, Scorpius lost his balance and fell backwards off the stump. His cap flew off his silver hair, which he didn't even notice. He got up slowly and stared at his friend:

"You saw in your dream that your sister was dreaming about me? Potter, you have to go to Madam Pomfrey…"

"No! I am certain that it was real! You were in a hooded cloak, wearing a mask…" and James gave a detailed account of the dream, only omitting that the blue-eyed dog had been a long-time fixture in his own dreams.

"And I was defending her from something?" Malfoy asked skeptically at the end of the tale. He picked up his cap, dusted it off and put it on.

"Yes, it seemed that way to me. And it also appeared that she was not afraid of you, even though you were masked. Must not have been the first time…"

Malfoy shook his head in disbelief and suddenly froze, staring at the lake.

"What?" James gazed at his friend in confusion.

"When, did you say, you dreamed your sister's dream?"

"Some time during the first period," James shrugged his shoulders, thinking that Malfoy was not going to be any help.

"I see," the Slytherin drawled, picking at the ground with the tip of his shoe. "You, Potters, are an interesting bunch… I, for instance, never dream of anything like this… House elves playing Quidditch; my father, driving nails into Harry Potter's statue; girls with…"

"Spare me the sordid details of you dream life," James asked. "Anyway, it's time to go to supper."

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders indifferently, as if saying – "you started this stupid conversation". They were both heading back toward the castle when Lily ran out toward them, agitated. It had been a while since she had this much colour in her face.

"Oh, James, I am so glad I found you!" she gripped her brother's hand, and he realized – something bad must have just happened.

"What?"

"It's Amanda! She went into the Forbidden Forest!" Lily exhaled, looking as though these words alone were going to explain her panic to the two chaps.

"Who?"

"Where?"

The Gryffindor threw up her hands:

"Don't you understand?" she didn't even make any effort to continue ignoring Malfoy. "Amanda Dursley is in danger!"

"Ok, Potter, now start from the beginning, and leave out the dramatics," Scorpius took over control of the conversation. "Why have you decided that she went into the Forbidden Forest?"

"I was returning from the Care of Magical Creatures class and ran into Amanda's girlfriend. I asked her where Amanda was and she said that just a couple of minutes beforehand, Amanda received a letter from her uncle and ran off somewhere.

"From our father?" James was surprised and even a little upset. "He hasn't even written to us yet!"

"Exactly! This made me wary, and then I remembered that Amanda showed me a letter from Daddy once. Back then something caught my attention, but I dismissed it. And now it hit me – the handwriting was similar to Daddy's, but different."

"Hold on, maybe his handwriting has changed a bit after…" Malfoy began, trying to inject a little cold logic into this fiery tale.

"No!" Lily exclaimed, looking indignantly at Malfoy. "This was before..! This was not a letter from my father; I was sure of it. This is why today I immediately asked if this girl knew what was in the letter. And she gave it to me. It turned out that Amanda was in such a hurry that she forgot the letter in the bench.

Lily handed James the scroll of parchment. The two friends leaned over the letter. The Gryffindor was in complete agreement with his sister – at first glance it appeared that the letter was indeed written by his father, but those who had been receiving letters from him consistently over the years could tell that the shape of the letter "r" was not typical for his handwriting. And other nuances looked noticeably different as well; noticeably for Potters, but not for the little Amanda Dursley.

The letter was clear: the author asked Amanda to come to the northern edge of the Forbidden Forest, walk down the old path, and meet with Uncle Harry who wanted to show her something interesting.

"Only a Hufflepuff could believe such rubbish," Malfoy snorted, looking up from the letter. "Harry Potter is hiding in the forest in order to share a secret with a brainless little girl."

"Malfoy!" Lily bellowed, and then she turned to James. "It is a trap. It has to be."

"But, Lil, one cannot enter Hogwarts grounds without permission; the security is very tight here!" James was trying to comfort his sister. "Maybe it is a silly prank…"

"Aha, one that has been going on for several weeks?! James, it is possible to enter Hogwarts grounds unnoticed. It is possible for those who would want to get to father and to us."

"How could werewolves get in here?" Malfoy folded his arms.

"If you, Malfoy, took time to read "Hogwarts: the History", you would have found a small footnote there that says that the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest border on impassible rocky terrain. Impassable for people! That is how different creatures appear in the forest: centaurs, unicorns, werewolves… The forest is enchanted so that no one can come out of it on this side, but they don't need to, do they? They have already lured Amanda in!

James and Scorpius were looking at the girl, dumbfounded.

"Merlin, are you going to stand like this forever?!" She shouted. "We have wasted a lot of time as it is! They will catch her and kill her! Or they will kidnap her in order to lure father in!"

"Stop, what if they are trying to lure _you_ in, Potter" Malfoy asked warily, blocking the girl's path. She was already turning toward the Forbidden Forest.

"If that was what they wanted, they would have made sure that we knew where Amanda was, as opposed to finding out by accident!"

"Lily, we have to tell the teachers! This is not a prank or an adventure…" James kept looking between the forest, his sister and the castle.

"Why don't you understand?! We may be too late!"

Malfoy was clearly trying to think of the right thing to do.

"Then you, Lily, should go to the castle and alert the professors, while Malfoy and I go into the forest," James decided, making a step toward the darkening trees.

"No, I shall not let you go there by yourselves. I shall go with you! I can't stay here and guess whether…"

"No time to argue," Malfoy interjected firmly. He looked around and saw a little boy nearby. "Hey, you, come here quickly!"

The frightened First Year ran up to them, as Malfoy took Amanda's letter from James and quickly scrawled a few words on it with a quill that he fished out of his pocket.

"Run to the school directly and give it to the first professor you see. Understand?"

The boy took off toward the castle, and Malfoy turned toward his friends.

"Well, let's go… Boy, do I love dealing with you Potters! Never a dull day."

James forced out a grin, and the three students rushed toward the northern edge of the Forbidden Forest that began not far from Hogwarts' limits.


	34. Part IV - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

_**Chapter 2. Lily Potter.**_

Lily had never been beyond the edge of the Forbidden Forest before. However, she was certain that James and Malfoy who were accompanying her today, felt at home in it. This gave her a little confidence that everything would end well; that they wouldn't be late; that they would not have to…

Lily shivered when they reached the spot from whence Amanda Dursley must have departed to a meeting with "Uncle Harry". Indeed, an almost invisible trail wound from the northern edge into the black, leafless depth of the forest, sometimes almost disappearing in the undergrowth.

"Potter, you will walk between us," Malfoy commanded, looking at Lily and taking out his wand. James had already lit up his wand to illuminate their path amidst the gloom of the autumn forest, dusky even on a sunny day.

The girl did not object. She lit up her wand as well, and the three of them – James at the head and Scorpius bringing up the rear – quickly headed down the path, trying to be quiet.

As they walked, Lily was desperately trying to calculate how much time had passed since Amanda entered the forest. The Gryffindor hoped that the First Year would have walked slowly, haltingly, wary of every little noise. Besides, Amanda's strides would have been so much shorter, tiny as she was even compared to Lily, let alone to James and Malfoy.

"At any suspicious noise or movement, stand with your back against a tree right away," the Slytherin whispered behind her, lightly touching her shoulder.

She was ready to tell him off, but checked herself in time – let him say and do anything, as long as there is no more pain. Someone else's pain. Her pain. Amanda was so small, so defenseless! How could they not have realized that the girl could be in danger as well?! How could they have only thought of themselves and not warned her?!

Lily sighed nervously and immediately sensed Malfoy coming closer. She did not look around – she was carefully staring down at her feet, afraid of looking up. What if she saw eyes gleaming yellow – or red! – from behind a tree? Her father had told her that there were centaurs living in the forest and that they typically did not harm humans. Who knew, however, what mood these creature were in today? Plus, there were things to fear here aside from centaurs.

Lily Potter was scared, but she had no intention of admitting it. Because her fear for Amanda was even stronger than her fear of this misty darkness, hiding the terrible magical creatures that they were warned about every year at the Welcoming Feast.

"Potter, don't forget to breath," again she heard a quiet voice in her ear. Damn, why wouldn't he leave her alone? Was he trying to distract her from the thoughts about the horrors of the Forbidden Forest? Well, he wasn't successful.

And then they heard a scream – muted, but still audible in the frosty silence. Lily started and lurched, but Malfoy grabbed her shoulder and held her back. Ahead of them, James switched to a run, pointing his wand forward. The girl hurried after him, feeling the Slytherin right on her heels.

In less than a minute, they followed the path to a tiny clearing. It was lit by a torch stuck into the ground.

Amanda Dursley lay in the middle of the clearing, her arms helplessly akimbo, and over her, leaning forward almost lovingly – but still only leaning – was Harry Potter. A man who had assumed her father's appearance – Lily instantly realized that this was not her father – covered Amanda's mouth with his hand.

James immediately waved his wand and Stunned the man, who fell backward and remained motionless. Lily dashed toward Amanda to make sure – immediately, without any delay – that the girl was all right, unharmed.

At the last moment, Lily detected a quick movement and managed to evade an animal as it tried to intercept her. She shrieked, lost her balance, and fell.

"Dammit, Potter!" Malfoy bellowed, coming up next to her, grabbing her hand and jerking her upright. Lily saw James standing next to Amanda, his wand toward another werewolf who emerged from the forest.

Everything happened almost momentarily; yet, for Lily, it lasted for hours. Two terrifying beasts with bared teeth were approaching them on either side. Malfoy pushed Lily against the tree and shielded her behind his broad back, holding out his wand. James did the same: he quickly pulled Amanda to her feet – the Hufflepuff had apparently come to – and stood between her and the werewolf.

"Don't move, Potter," Scorpius warned her when Lily wanted to break free and help. She froze, watching the Seventh Years throw spell after spell at their adversaries. Stunners did not make werewolves drop to the ground. The spells merely made them stagger back.

"Potter, what did Faust tell us about these creatures?" Malfoy called out to his friend in a deliberately cheery voice, momentarily stopping the flow of red jets flying at the werewolves.

"I told you before, Malfoy, that you should have listened in class instead of playing with fake wands!" James accepted the challenge, jumping back and pushing Amanda aside when one werewolf dodged a spell and lurched forward with a deep growl. "Damn! His eyes! Try the Conjunctivitus Curse!"

Scorpius wand issued a jet of white light a moment after James did. It took the Slytherin three attempts to hit the werewolf, who howled and staggered back, squeezing his yellow eyes shut and shaking his head. The second beast was also writhing in pain.

"Ropes!" shouted Scorpius, and the animals' paws were simultaneously bound by thick plaits. The werewolves crashed to the ground, writhing and howling in pain. James and Malfoy slowly approached their victims, wands at the ready.

Lily gasped, and rushed toward Amanda who had collapsed on the ground.

"LILI!" Scorpius screamed dismally.

She whirled around – the Stunned man had transformed and was jumping toward her. For just a few moments she was paralyzed with surprise and terror, unable even to raise her wand. She could almost feel the jaws closing on her neck, but it never came.

An instant before the beast attacked his motionless prey, between the girl and the werewolf stood Scorpius Malfoy, wand in hand.

"Stupefy!" he yelled, apparently not having time enough to concentrate on a non-verbal spell. The jet of light hit the beast squarely on the chest as it was completing his deadly leap inches away from the youth. The werewolf began falling sideways, his paws tearing at the air.

James' curse followed up on Malfoy's and the animal was subdued, bound like his companions. His body hit the ground with a thud.

"Dammit, Potter!" Scorpius swung toward Lily and broke off, looking at her whitened face and her eyes, widened in shock. He looked around at James, but the chap first occupied himself binding all three bodies into a single bundle, and then turned to the Hufflepuff who, from the looks of her, was having a quiet fit of hysterics. "Potter, look at me."

She did as he said. She began to shake violently, but was making heroic attempts to get a hold of herself. It seemed to her as if she would never be able to think coherently again. And never would be able to fall asleep for fear of seeing a werewolf jumping at her every time she closed her eyes.

"Calm down, Lily, everything is alright now," Malfoy spoke quietly and soothingly. Was it truly him speaking this way? Was it his face, still bearing traces of excitement from the battle, yet full of concern for her, that she was seeing so close to her own?

Lily sighed deeply and closed her eyes, trying to get her shaking under control. Then she opened them and immediately saw a dark stain on the Slytherin's robes; a wet stain and a tear; torn fabric and the edge of his shirt soaked in blood.

"Malfoy, you have been hurt!" she reached out and grabbed his elbow.

"Nonsense," Scorpius attempted to draw back, but her caring hand wouldn't let him. "It's just a scratch."

"A scratch?" she parted his robe, barely touching, and looked closer at the red line on white skin. "Not a bite?"

"No," the youth shook his head, not looking her in the face. "A scratch. It's nothing."

And then, finally, the professors appeared at the scene of the action. First, Hagrid, a crossbow in his enormous hands, fell out of – or broke through – the undergrowth. Then pale McGonagall came running with her wand out. She stopped dead in her tracks, silently taking in the bound werewolves, who had by now quieted down, tired of struggling against the magic ropes. Faust and Longbottom almost crashed into motionless McGonagall. Finally, Flitwick came mincing along, quite out of breath after his little cross-country race. Apparently, the news of an ambush in the Forbidden Forest reached them in the Great Hall.

"Lily, James! Are you all right?" Hagrid asked, his deep voice full of concern, looking at the students.

"Yes, all is well," Lily let go of Malfoy's hand and… slumped to the groung as her legs gave way under her. "Only Malfoy is hurt…"

"Mr. Malfoy, get over here," Faust ordered, staring at Scorpius who was looking displeased about something. "Quickly!"

James led Amanda to the professors, and Neville immediately knelt before her, soothing her with quite words. McGonagall finally tore her eyes away from the werewolves. She looked so stern that Lily swallowed nervously.

"I can't imagine you being so stupid as to have gone into the Forbidden Forest, knowing that you were putting yourself in harm's way!" the headmistress bellowed.

"But, Professor, Amanda…"

"Not a word, Ms. Potter!" McGonagall pursed her lips and approached the bound captives. "I was sure that after what happened in Hogsmead and, especially, what happened with your parents, you would have realize how serious the situation was!"

Lily looked sideways at her brother who looked completely nonplussed, and then at Malfoy – Faust was passing his wand over the wound, apparently, to stop the bleeding. James came over to his sister and helped her to her feet.

"Professor Longbottom," McGonagall finally shifted her attention. "Please go to the gate and get the Aurors who are on guard there. They will pick up these… Hagrid, see Ms. Potter, Ms. Dursley, and Mr. Potter to my study."

"I will go with them," Scorpius insisted, stepping back from Faust and standing next to his friends.

"The hospital wing, Mr. Malfoy!" the Headmistress did not budge. "And I shall inform your parents."

"I am sure they will be delighted by my heroics," Scorpius whispered so that only Lily and James would hear him. "Potter, I hope that you won't leave me out in the street."

"And we need to let Harry Potter know as well," McGonagall added, raising her wand. A Patronus rushed off into the darkness; Lily could not make out the shape of the Hogwarts Headmistress' protector.

"Hagrid, please," McGonagall repeated urgently, walking over to the bound werewolves. The gamekeeper nodded and motioned with his huge hand for the young people to follow him.

All the way to the Headmistress' study Hagrid berated the children of his beloved Harry for carelessness, disregard for their own safety, and for causing new worry to their already beleaguered father.

The students bore it in silence, knowing that Hagrid was saying it out of his sincere love for Potters. Even Malfoy was silent, nursing his hand.

The Slytherin stubbornly continued on with his friends instead of turning toward Madam Pomfrey's domain, but Hagrid did not say anything.


	35. Part IV - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

_**Chapter 3. Harry Potter.**_

Tense silence reigned in Hermione and Ron's living room. Hermione was sitting in the chair, her eyes following Harry who was pacing from corner to corner, his arms folded across his chest. Teddy was leafing through books, although it was unclear what he hoped to find.

In the past hour they had gone through all possible options. An attack on the Aurors who were guarding Ron, the Invisibility Cloak, even the Polyjuice Potion. All of that hit upon the same problem – the ministry made sure that no unauthorized person could enter the floor where the two werewolves were held. The safeguards could not be tricked even by someone wearing the Invisibility Cloak. And only someone who knew the password set by the Minister and known by a small number of people could pass through them.

Harry obtained this information from a trusted colleagues at the Ministry. Now he was frantically trying to find a way out of the situation. He had to rescue his friend; he had to. The _how_ didn't matter, for he had no intention of losing Ron.

Harry looked at Hermione – her answering gaze was perplexed, but she did not say anything. What was there to say that had not been said before? They had considered many options, yet still did not have the solution. Of course, a blatant break-out was always an option, but then what? If they were still seventeen, with no children or families, then it would have been easy to just get Ron out and then hide somewhere where no one would find them.

Harry was trying to keep his panic in check – he was ready to smash something or smash his own head against the wall; because the time was ticking by, and they still didn't have any viable ideas except attacking the hospital. Perhaps, this was because of the fatigue, for it couldn't be that there was not a single hole through which they might pull Ron out of this pickle.

For some reason, his Fourth Year at Hogwarts was on his mind. The Triwizard Tournament; the second task; the hopelessness that he felt because of not knowing how to survive under water for an hour; Dobby appearing at the last moment. He always came to their aid, that free spirit of an elf. If he or Kreacher were still alive, they would easily be able to help Ron out. However, no one present owned a house elf, and asking for someone else's was dangerous. Besides, judging by the kind of spell that was cast on the second floor of the hospital, even a house elf could not appear there without triggering the alarm.

Harry was familiar with this spell since what was supposed to be his seventh year at Hogwarts. Instead, he ran all over England, trying to stay alive and defeat the enemy. Hogsmead, from where he, Ron, and Hermione wanted to sneak into Hogwarts had the Cauterwauling Charm cast over it; and Harry had no idea how to penetrate it without the password.

"I will make some tea," Hermione said defeatedly and headed for the kitchen. Harry followed her with his eyes, knowing what his friend must be feeling now. For Ron was not simply her friend; he was her husband. And Harry knew what it was like to fear the loss of a loved one.

He had lost. And it was all his fault. It was his fault alone that Ginny was gone. That their house, hitherto always filled with love, now looked like a crypt. He was suffocating in it while collecting Al's things. Harry had had no idea how her presence permeated the house; how everything in it bore his wife's mark. He was not sure that he would ever again, even once, be able to cross the threshold of this now alien house.

"Here is tea," Hermione set the tray on the coffee table.

"Well, one thing is clear," Teddy shut the book he held in his hands and walked over to the couch. "We have to know the password. I looked – there is no way we can lift the Cauterwauling Charm without it."

Harry nodded contritely and reached out for his tea cup, feeling the time slip away.

"None of your Aurors can get you the password? Of those assigned to the hospital?" Lupin sat down and took his tea.

"No. As I understand, the password is changed every morning, so those who come on the shift do not know it ahead of time," Harry picked up his tea cup, and then set it back down, unable to just stand still or drink tea. "Even if we learn the password, we won't be able to simply walk Ron out of there."

"What do you suggest?"

"A house elf."

Hermione looked at her friend wide-eyed and nodded:

"Of course! This is so simple…"

"Yes, except we still have two tough questions remaining: where to get the password and where to get a house elf?"

"Harry, what if…"

Hermione didn't finish because at that moment something shiny burst into the room. Harry realized what it was – a Patronus. The silver cat froze by the coffee table and spoke in the familiar voice of Minerva McGonagall:

"Harry, we need you at Hogwarts. Use the fireplace; the password is 'Wulfric'. Do not worry – your children are all right. Try to come as quickly as possible."

"What else happened?" Harry reached for the sweater he took off earlier and walked to the fireplace. His heart sank with fear, even though McGonagall had said that Lily and James were all right. Why then would the Hogwarts' Headmistress summon him so urgently, unless something was amiss?

"Everything will be all right, Harry," Hermione whispered behind him, not really believing her own words. Nothing would be well anymore after he had just buried Ginny, Ron was in grave danger, and they could not come up with a plan to rescue him. All would not be well as long as Patronuses were bursting into their homes with troubling messages.

Harry stepped into the fireplace and shouted: "Hogwarts. Headmistress' study. Wulfric." Then he flew through the Floo network, keeping his hands tightly pressed against him.

The first people he saw as he stepped out of the fireplace in McGonagall's study were his children; alive and, apparently, well.

"Daddy!" Lily jumped from her seat and ran into his arms.

"Uncle Harry," Amanda squeaked and also hugged him, although she could only reach up around his knees.

"How is it going, Dad?" James shook his father's hand, and then drew forward and hugged him momentarily.

"It's going ok," Harry attempted to smile at his children, and then noticed the presence of another student in the room. Scorpius Malfoy. They had barely met before; only on the Platform 9 ¾. James had never invited his friend to visit him at home before his last birthday, but even then Harry didn't come face to face with Draco Malfoy's son. In all five years of James' and Scorpius' friendship Harry never said a word to him. They usually nodded courteously at each other, just like with the Slytherin's father.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," the young Malfoy said. Judging by how he held his arm, it was injured.

"Hello," Harry responded, and then turned to Lily and James. "Will anyone finally explain to me what happened here?"

"I want to hear it also!" Minerva McGonagall practically flew into the room, accompanied by Zig, Harry's co-worker, Professor Faust, and pale Neville in soil-smeared robes. The elder Potter greeted them all and then retreated to the mantle in order to be able to see everyone at once. First, McGonagall was alarmed. Second, his children looked embarrassed. Third, Zig was present. Fourth, Malfoy had apparently been hurt. So far, the picture was coming out quite unsettling. But what was Amanda doing there with such a guilty expression on her face?

"So, your father and I are awaiting your explanations," the Headmistress tried to say it as gently as possible. "Be brief and concise: how did you find yourselves in the Forbidden forest, and in the company of werewolves, no less?"

"What?!" Harry shuddered so violently that a vase fell off the mantle. No one paid attention to it, however, because the eyes of all adults were fixed on the students. "Werewolves?! How?"

"It was I who went there!

"We had to save Amanda!"

"We caught three of them!"

Only Malfoy remained silent, standing against the wall and smiling contentedly.

"So," McGonagall, like Harry Potter, did not understand much from all those exclamations. "Now… Ms. Potter, please, tell us everything in detail and without omissions…" At this moment, however, the Headmistress' gaze fell on the silent Slytherin. "And what are you doing here, Mr. Malfoy? I told you loud and clear – go to the hospital wing! I do not wish to hear any objections! Go now! Professor Faust, please take him to Madam Pomfrey."

Harry watched the young Malfoy unwillingly follow the Head of Gryffindor House, looking back at James several times. When the door closed behind them, McGonagall looked back at Lily:

"Now, Ms. Potter, we are ready to listen."

And Lily began to tell them everything – about bumping into Amanda's friend, reading the note, seeking out her brother and his friend, and deciding to go into the forest, after sending a note to the professors.

"Excuse, me, is this the note that you were referring to?" McGonagall took a wrinkled piece of parchment out of her pocket and held it up disgustedly with two fingers, for everyone to see. Harry managed to make out a few scribbled words on the back: _Forbidden forest, the northern clearing. Werewolves._ It appeared to Harry that the Hogwarts Headmistress was not so much upset as she was worried. And the elder Potter himself has not recovered quite yet – how could they not have thought about Amanda Dursley being in danger? And how could they not have remembered about the Forbidden Forest, where the werewolves felt at home since times immemorial?! Of course, Harry had never bothered to read the "Hogwarts: the History" – why would he, if he had Hermione? But what about the teachers, the Headmistress?! They should have been certain to take this possibility into account! And there his was, sure that his children were perfectly safe at Hogwarts. The illusion of safety, which had been destroyed back in his school years by Draco Malfoy and the Death Eaters. "Continue, Ms. Potter."

Lily related their brief struggle with the werewolves in as much detail as she could muster. Harry was horrified, realizing that the Polyjuice Potion was used once again, that again someone hid behind his face in order to cause harm. He had long figured out where they got a bit of him. Harry lifted his hand to look at the barely noticeable scar from a minor cut he had sustained, without paying any attention to it, at the Diagon Alley. He simply healed it then. And now he was almost certain – his blood was retained and added to the potion. And it was now used to kill and maim people who were close to him.

Amanda began to weep quietly in her chair. _Poor child, sucked into this nightmare._

Harry went down on his knees in front of her and stroked her hair.

"It is not your fault. This could have happened to anyone. Don't cry."

"Amanda, have you been getting these letters long?" Zig asked, coming closer and standing behind Harry's back.

"Yes. Since the beginning of the school year," the Hufflepuff sobbed, wiping her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her robes.

"Wait…" Harry's eyes narrowed, "You have been receiving letters from me. Did you reply?"

"Yes, always," Amanda said timidly.

"But I didn't receive anything," Harry remarked, exchanging glances with Zig. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know," Amanda shrugged. "I wrote to the address that you… well, they told me in each letter."

"Do you remember the address?" asked Zig animatedly.

The girl shook her head.

"Then, perhaps, you have saved the last letter?" Harry inquired gently.

"Yes, of course," the Hufflepuff livened up. "I can bring it."

"All right, Ms. Dursley," Professor McGonagall spoke, "You will go with your Head of the House. Give him the letters and then Professor Longbottom will take you to the hospital wing so that Madam Pomfrey can examine you.

Neville nodded at Harry with understanding and a sort of compassion, took Amanda's hand, and the two left the study. Harry sat down in the chair vacated by his niece and buried his face in his hands. He was trembling, because he didn't even need to see those letters. He knew that he would see a strange-looking "r" there; and what otherwise looked like his handwriting.

"All right," McGonagall, apparently, understood the condition of the elder Potter and took matters into her own hands. "I hope that you will not have to defend yourselves in the future. I understand that you had no other choice, but I beg you – no more independent action, please."

Lily and James nodded obediently. Harry raised his head and met his daughter's loving gaze.

"And now go to your rooms. I will give an order for your dinner to be brought to the tower."

The children got to their feet and so did Harry.

"Professor McGonagall, may I walk with them?"

"Yes, of course. Then you may return here and use my fireplace. And Harry, believe me, this won't happen again. I promise you."

Harry nodded and followed his children out of the room, leaving behind the Headmistress and the Auror.

"Keep me informed, Zig," Harry asked and walked out.

Lily and James were awaiting their father by the gargoyle.

"Well, you two, been up to no good, eh?"

His children exchanged uncertain looks, then stared at their father.

"Dad, but…"

Harry smiled – faintly, timidly, but he smiled, hugging his children.

"Thank you. I am insanely happy that my children are so brave. But I am asking you, please, enough heroics."

"All right," James shrugged. "It's not like we can help it – it's in our blood."

Harry gibingly raised one eyebrow.

"You know, there was this young man in our family who tried to rescue someone at Hogwarts every year."

"Go ahead, you joker," Harry nudged his son in the direction opposite to the Gryffindor tower and went with him. Lily couldn't help but follow them.

"And where are we going?" she asked as she caught up with James and her father.

"I think that James will want to visit with his friend in the hospital wing," her father suggested. The youth grinned and walked faster down the hall.

"All right, and why are you going there?" the girl asked warily.

"I have stuff to do there," Harry replied vaguely, putting his arm around his daughter's shoulders. "You don't have to go with us if you don't want to."

"Yeah, right!" Lil snorted. "It's not like you come to this school that often…"

"Dad, how is Uncle Ron doing?" James turned toward the stairs.

"Almost recovered," Harry said vaguely, letting his son and daughter in the door to the hospital wing.

Nothing changed here since Harry graduated. Only Madam Pomfrey, who was at that moment walking away from the folding screen on their left, had become even more fragile and her face – more wrinkled.

"Mr. Potter!" a smile lit her face as she saw her once regular patient. "I am glad to see you. Did you want something?" She looked all three Potters over carefully.

"If you don't mind, we will disturb one of your patients," Harry nodded toward the bed where Scorpius was sitting with a bandaged shoulder, staring at his visitors.

"All right," Madam Pomfrey nodded and headed for her office. James immediately walked over to his friend:

"Malfoy, they put you in a cast because of a scratch?"

Scorpuius looked at his friend in disdain and then shifted his silvery gaze to James' father.

Harry simply stepped toward the young man and held out his hand. Scorpius, taken aback, shook Harry Potter's hand somewhat mechanically.

"Thank you," Harry said, looking into the familiar face even as he realized that this Malfoy's features were filled with quite a different substance than Draco's.

"What for?"

"For my daughter. And for James," Harry answered simply, feeling his children's gazes boring into his back. "I am glad that my son has you for a friend."

"Hmm, I never thought I would hear such words," Scorpius smiled, looking at the elder Potter.

"Why?"

"Well, I am a Malfoy," the Slytherin shrugged.

"You being a Malfoy does not make you automatically worse than you really are," Harry remarked softly. "And I also think that you are the best thing that ever happened to Draco Malfoy."

Scorpius chuckled:

"I think that he would not agree with you."

"The main thing is for you to remember that your surname does not commit you to anything," said Harry and then turned toward his children. "Time for me to go now. Be careful."

The Gryffindors nodded and Harry left the hospital wing, closing the door behind him. He quickly walked down the empty hallways toward McGonagall's study. No one was there – apparently the Headmistress left to attend to some urgent matters. And so Harry was now at liberty to look around and walk up to Albus Dumbledore's portrait.

"Hello, Professor," Harry looked at the old wizard. Dumbledore was sitting in his chair, smiling at his student.

"Hello, Harry," the warm, familiar voice instantly penetrated down into his soul and Harry felt calmer. "I see that you are still the same: your father's son, and Sirius' godson. Still just as strong."

Harry smiled faintly and his gaze shifted to the next portrait, where Severus Snape was looking at him with the same disdainful expression on his sallow face that he wore in life.

"Hello, Professor Snape."

"So many Potters in one day…" Snape turned away from Harry, who was not at all bothered by it. They never really had a conversation. What could they talk about? About Snape's love for Harry's mother? About his hatred for Harry's father? They did not have common interests, even despite Severus Snape being in some degree responsible for saving Harry's life.

"Harry," he turned back to his Teacher's portrait, "your strength is, as I told you many times before, in love. Not in revenge, not in hatred, but in love. And you will overcome again. I am sure of it."

"My love did not save Ginny," Harry said contritely, hanging his head.

"No," Dumbledore did not bother with empty words, but continued to press his point. "However, when facing your enemies, you have to remember that love is more powerful than hatred or revenge. Your love will save you and your loved ones. And when you are facing a choice, choose that. Not revenge. Not hatred. Love, Harry."

"But, Professor, I am no longer protected by my mother's love," Harry smiled bitterly, looking up at Dumbledore's kindly face. "This time it is on the side of my enemy."

"He is not the enemy, my boy. He is just a teenager, a pawn in the hands of stronger people. Remember – he didn't want to become what Voldemort made him. You didn't want that either, yet you could do nothing. Think about it. And help will come in time, you just don't lose heart."

"What?" Harry didn't understand. He was beganning to get angry – as usual, the Headmaster spoke in riddles that Potter himself would have to sort out. "What help?"

But Dumbledore only smiled softly, folding his hands in the same way he did when he occupied this study. And for a moment Harry felt like a Sixth Year again, coming to a study session with Dumbledore and hearing him tell another story of the boy who would become Lord Voldemort.

"Remember, once you were able to pity the man who killed your parents," the Teacher spoke again, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "I am sure that you haven't changed much since then, Harry."

The Headmaster did not say any more. He closed his eyes, pretending to be tired and needing rest. Harry sighed heavily, cast the last look at Dumbledore, nodded at Snape, and stepped into the fireplace.

His head was beginning to hurt from information overload, not to mention Dumbledore's riddles!

Harmione rose from the living room chair at the sight of her friend, looking a little frightened.

"Everything is all right, don't worry," Harry rushed to put her fears to rest.

"No, Harry, it's not that… Someone is waiting for you here."

Harry Potter stared at the black-haired man who rose from the chair. In the twilight of the room it seemed to him that there was a ghost before him. A ghost of the man he saw on a portrait just a few minutes ago. Standing before him was Severus Snape.

**Another nice cliff-hanger. :) Our new hero is coming to the fore.**


	36. Part IV - Chapter 4 - Theodic

Chapter 4. Theodic.

_*Theodic – from Greek 'theós' – 'God' and 'dikaios' – 'just'._

He always liked darkness, ever since he was a child. But now he decided that it was not appropriate. He waived his wand. Candles lit up the room. The light fell on Harry Potter's pale face; on Mrs. Weasley's slender figure; on the interested face of a young man; and illuminated his own features.

The silence lingered. It appeared, however, that Potter had collected himself. He probably also had figured something out.

"Who are you?"

_There._

"My name is Theo. My last name will not be of any consequence to you."

"In the semi-darkness you looked very much like a man I once knew," Harry Potter said cautiously. He stepped forward.

"We never met," Theo stared directly at Potter. Apparently, even his gaze was unsettling for his hosts. He was right then. He couldn't have been wrong.

"You wanted to talk to me about something?" the man made an inviting gesture, which Theo ignored.

"I came to offer you a deal," Theo got right to the point. _Surprised._ He didn't expect anything else.

"A deal?" Potter repeated. _Never thought that the people's hero would be hard of hearing._

"A deal," Theo said through clenched teeth. "I can help you."

"How?"

_No double-take this time. Progress._ Theo folded his arms. He kept his eyes fixed on Potter.

"You have to get Ronald Weasley out of the hospital. I can help."

They exchanged glances; all three of them. Then they looked back at him.

"What made you think that? And who are you, anyway?" Harry Potter bristled.

"I am a Healer. Does that make it clearer?"

They looked at each other again. _A dumb habit._

"Do you work at St. Mungo's?" said Potter, clarifying the obvious. Theo decided that the question did not warrant an answer.

"How do you know that Ron needs help?" Mrs. Weasley spoke. _What's her name? Oh, yeah, Hermione. Hmm… that's a meaningful question._

"Legilimency." _That ought to explain everything; ought to have; but, apparently, not for everyone._ He turned toward Hermione. "I saw you in the hospital today."

"You read Hemione's mind, didn't you?" the fourth participant spoke up. _It turns out that he can speak. Would have been better if he didn't though._

"Thoughts are not text inside the skull. They cannot be read." For some reason Potter started. _Learned something new?_ Theo turned to Mrs. Weasley. "I simply touched your mind, lightly. And interpreted the data."

"A frequent pastime of yours?"

Theo raised his dark eyebrows. He looked at the woman with slight curiosity.

"No. Not frequent. I have more important things to do," Theo looked at Potter who was closely watching their visitor. "I also glimpsed some things from the minds of the Aurors who guard the rooms on the second floor."

"Are you authorized to enter the second floor?" Harry Potter livened up, stepping toward Theo. _Boy, does Mr. Potter like rhetorical questions!_ "Do you know the passwords?"

"I offer you a deal," Theo returned to the beginning. "I shall give you the password."

"And what is your price?" Mrs. Weasley was eyeing their guest warily.

"It is not high. Compared with your friend's life."

_Quiet. Waiting._

"In exchange, I want information."

"What information?" Potter tensed.

"All kinds of information; but all about the same man. I am certain – you know who."

"His name," Harry Potter demanded, suddenly stern.

"I don't know his name," Theo admitted. His gaze never faltered. "You do. You decided that I was him. When you came in and saw me. What was his name?"

"Severus Snape," Potter turned away. _Couldn't look me in the eye? Or for some other reason. It's difficult to understand this man. A man living in his own private hell._

"Do I look a lot like him?"

"Somewhat," Potter answered quietly. Mrs. Weasley and the third man exchanged glances. _What an annoying habit they have._

"Shall I make some tea?" the lady of the house muttered. Potter nodded. The young man followed the woman. _This is better._

The two of them were now alone.

"What do you mean by 'somewhat'?" Theo faced Harry Potter squarely.

"In the twilight, you looked like the spitting image of him. But now… You are much younger… Your face is different… But you have his nose… And the look in your eyes is the same… Your hair would have been the same, should you not bother washing it for a fortnight," Potter smiled. "What is your connection with Snape?"

"He is my father."

Harry Potter nearly dropped his wand.

"He is your father and you don't even know his name?!" disbelief on his face.

"Now I know," Theo was not going to show his vulnerability. "Will you accept the deal?"

"How do I know that you are telling the truth? I don't even believe that you are Severus Snape's son. As far as I know he didn't have any children."

"I can prove it," Theo said simply.

"How?"

"We need a Pensieve. I will show you," Theo did not bother to explain that he used to have his own, but it broke.

Harry Potter appeared to be at a loss. Theo waited.

"I have a Pensieve. But it is not here," Potter finally made up his mind. "Wait here a moment."

Theo merely shrugged. Harry Potter left the room. Several minutes passed. He returned with the young wizard.

"Ted will go fetch the Pensieve."

Theo did not respond. He simply watched. The wizard called Ted entered the fireplace.

"And why did you come to me if you didn't even know Snape's name?" Potter turned away from the waning green flames. _Suspicious, this one._

"I saw him in your memory."

"You got into my head?" Potter inquired, sounding a little frightened.

"Yes. I am a Healer. A Legiliment. I specialize in bringing patients out of coma and other chronic psychiatric conditions; by means of penetrating the brain from the outside."

"It was you, then, who helped me…?"

Theo didn't bother voicing the obvious answer.

"I saw my father; as he lay dying. A fleeting image; but I recognized him."

Harry Potter merely nodded. He blanched a little. Apparently, there was a reason for that memory to be among the "bad" pictures.

"Who was he?"

"He was a great man," Potter replied unexpectedly. Theo gulped. Waited. "The bravest… The most loyal… But he was cruel. I hated him."

Theo was surprised. For the first time in a long time.

"Why?"

"It happened that way," Potter was looking anywhere but at Theo.

Ted came out of the fireplace with a box in his hands. He gave it to Potter. He did not go into the kitchen, but sat in the chair. _Oh, well, let him stay. Backup? Wary of Potter being drowned in the Pensieve?_

Harry Potter took a deep vessel out of the box; ancient runes ran around the edge. He put it on the table. Theo stepped forward, took out the wand and touched his head. It took him more than a minute to fill the Pensieve with his memories. Then he lowered the wand and looked at Potter.

"You will find your proof there."

Theo leaned over the Pensieve; touched the surface with his hooked nose. Soon he entered his own memories. He stood up and saw Potter next to him, looking around.

"Where are we?"

Theo smiled:

"This is my room. And that's me over there."

It was strange to look at himself. He had just turned eleven. There he was, sitting on the bed; clean shirt; neat shorts; trimmed hair.

The door opened. His mother came in. For some reason, Potter took a step back.

Theo looked at his mother. She was beautiful, as always; red hair; greenish eyes.

"Theodic, tesoro, viene di sotto."

Little Theo looked up at her. The adult Theo – at Potter. The other frowned. Theo had been right, then.

"She is speaking Italian, her native tongue," the adult Theo clarified. "I will translate; although I don't believe that will be necessary."

Potter nodded. They both looked at the mother and son.

The boy stood up and took her hand.

Theo followed them; down the familiar hallway; down the steps; into the living room.

A tall man in robes stood by the wall. Little Theo looked back at his mother. She smiled encouragingly.

"This is Theodic Mancilli."

The man walked up to the boy and held out an envelope to him. _Potter ought to have recognized it. A letter from Hogwarts._

"I won't go," little Theo said firmly in English.

"Why?" the wizard was an Englishman.

"I don't see a reason," the child shrugged.

Harry Potter looked around at the adult Theo, but didn't say anything.

"Your father wanted it so."

"I do not have a father."

"Theodic, caro…" his mother addressed him in Italian, but the boy jerked his shoulder. Theo did not translate his mother's words.

"Your father requested that you be given this when you have turned eleven and received a letter from Hogwarts."

"I do not have a father," the boy repeated stubbornly.

"Theodic, be quiet!" his mother cried. The boy merely shrugged.

"Take this," the wizard handed Theo a box.

"What is it?"

"You will understand everything when you open it."

The boy did not say anything. He turned around and walked back to his room.

"What did your father leave to you?" Potter followed Theodic.

"You'll see."

They were back in Theodic's room. He put the box on the table. Opened it with scissors.

"A Pensieve?!"

The adult Theo did not respond. He was looking at the sheet of paper that had fallen out of the box. The little Theodic picked it up.

Potter walked behind the boy's back. Theo could have recited his father's letter by heart.

"This is Snape's handwriting," Potter nodded. Theo never doubted it.

"The letter has only a few lines. '_You were yet another one of my mistakes. The only one I do not regret. And if you are alive, then I have done it right.'_ That is all."

Potter looked a little shaken. Meanwhile, the little Theodic was eyeing the Pensieve. Silvery liquid glittered inside. The boy leaned closer. Potter knew what was going to happen.

"How is this possible? Are we to fall through the Pensieve the second time?"

"These are my memories," the adult Theo shrugged, while the world around them transformed.

It was a small pub. An English pub. The pub that still showed traces of a recent Christmas season. The room was in shadows. There were hardly any customers.

Potter immediately spotted Theodic's father. The little Theo, however, was looking around nervously. He didn't know what he was supposed to look for.

Severus Snape was sitting at a table, beneath the clock.

"This is Hogsmead," Harry Potter said. "It is close to Hogwarts."

Theo shrugged. He was staring at his father. An unfinished bottle sat on the table before Severus Snape. He was drunk.

Potter looked around. Apparently, he understood more that both Theo and his miniature copy.

"Monday," Harry Potter whispered, pointing at the calendar. "This is the day Snape began teaching me Occlumency."

Theo blinked. This was where his talent for Legilimency came from. His father had it also.

Meanwhile, Snape from the memory was sitting, staring into his glass. Dirty hair, almost concealing a yellowish face; making it impossible to make out the features.

They heard a voice at the door, speaking in ringing Italian. A girl walked in, brushing the snow off her hair. She was accompanied by an older woman. They were exchanging quiet remarks.

Snape looked in their direction and froze; just like Potter did when he first saw Theo's mother.

The Italians walked to a vacant table; right in front of Snape. He was looking hungrily at the girl.

"Is this your mother?"

Potter turned to Theo. The other nodded. He was looking at his parents. Snape got up and sat at the Italians' table. Everyone was silent. Then the young Italian girl sent away her older companion, asking her to get rooms for the night.

"You are alive…" Snape spoke.

The girl answered something in Italian. It didn't look like she was frightened. Her face showed interest.

"I saw you today. In your son's mind. You were with him; with that pig; with that shaggy bastard. He was the one who ruined you.

The girl listened to the words she couldn't understand. She put her hand on Snape's in a comforting gesture. He pulled his away.

"You came back. For me?"

Potter gulped.

"Is Snape so drunk he is thinking that this is my mother?" he whispered. Theo did not know; he was simply looking; like he did when he was a child.

The Italian girl stood up and pulled Snape with her. He was saying something slowly. Potter turned toward the grown-up Theo.

"What is she saying?"

"'You look ill. You need to rest. Come with me, I will help you. Come.'"

They followed Snape and the Italian upstairs; into a room. It was almost pitch-dark. Snape was unsteady on his feet from alcohol.

"You came back for me."

The Italian girl took off her robes. Snape stepped toward her; embraced her. She did not resist.

"You bore him a son," a bitter reproach in Snape's voice. "I will also give you a son; a better one than this good-for-nothing…"

The girl put her palm on Snape's mouth, preventing him from going on.

Theo saw that Potter was repulsed by the scene he was watching.

"'I want to help you'", Theo translated his mother's words.

And then everything was obstructed by fog. This memory had been tempered with. Then – again the room at the pub. Early dawn filtered into the room. The girl was sleeping in the bed. Snape put the hood over his head. He took out his wand and directed it at the girl.

"You shall forget my face. You shall forget this place. You shall leave here today. You shall never return to England. When the baby is born, you shall provide it with uttermost protection and care. Forget me. If I survive, I shall find you."

Snape put away his wand and left the room. And the adults immediately found themselves in the boy Theo's room. Potter was pale. As pale as Theo's father as he was leaving Theo's sleeping mother.

And in a few more seconds, Theo was once again in the Weasleys' living room. Potter stood next to him. He took a step and sat on the couch.

"Do you agree to the deal?"

Harry Potter looked at Theo, dumbfounded; and nodded.


	37. Part IV - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.

If Scorpius hated anything about school, it was the hospital wing. He couldn't imagine a duller place. Lying in bed and feeling more helpless than you really were. It was in the air.

Madam Pomfrey threatened that she would go straight to the Headmistress if the Slytherin refused to spend the night under her observation. What Malfoy didn't understand was what the Healer meant by "observation". Sleeping like a log in her room all night? Meanwhile, Scorpius was staring at the ceiling that did not even sport any cracks to make the activity more entertaining.

If he was being honest, however, he had a lot to mull over today. Could it be otherwise, with Potters involved? They could turn an ordinary day into a feat of heroics that called to the fore the best traits of their Gryffindor souls.

Today's little duel with the werewolves, as a topic of contemplation, had become old, however. The Slytherin didn't see how he could admire his own bravery and quick wit any longer.

Scorpius turned onto his side, trying not to bother his bandaged arm. _Damn, it's hurting as if someone is sticking needles into it!_ That beast's paws had something special about them after all. If a mere scratch felt like this, he could only imagine what those seriously mauled by it felt like. Harry Potter, for instance.

No, it was not comfortable to lie on his side. Malfoy turned over again, hoping that the furry ears of the werewolf who scratched him were now burning in Hell's fire; and his arse, too.

He was not sleepy at all and strange thoughts were finding their way into his head; thoughts caused by Harry's Potter words. He really thought that Scorpius was the best thing that happened to Draco Malfoy, did he? _Well, Draco Malfoy is to be pitied then_, Scorpius grinned at the ceiling. _If this is the best, then what is the worst?!_

All other things aside, however, Malfoy was quite touched by the elder Potter's gesture. _What? Touched?_ Malfoy was not even to know a word like that! Where did all this stuff come from in a descendant of the ancient House of Malfoy? Shame, conscience, compassion, sympathy, heroism?! And _when_? It was most definitely not there on the day he came to Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat would not have mis-sorted a Gryffindor. No, it confidently sent Scorpius to the Slytherin House.

It must be the Potters then; their rotten influence. Why rotten though? Maybe he, Scorpius Malfoy, would have a monument erected in his honor one day. And maybe the members of a Muggle pajamas fan club would be gathered around him, immortalized in stone. Or maybe it will be the James Potter Association of Future Heroes. _Why not?_

Scorpius tossed his blanket aside with his foot. Neither one of the silvery-grey eyes of his felt sleepy. Of course, he could simply up and leave, but what if Madam Pomfrey decided to "observe" him in the middle of the night and started screaming that the poor boy had been kidnapped by rabid goblins to be sold into slavery? _Why scare the poor old woman like that?_

Suddenly, Malfoy froze: the door to the hospital wing opened noiselessly. Then it closed and a slender figure in a dark robes began moving through the shadows. Scorpius pretended to be asleep, looking through his eyelashes, as the girl (would he not be able to tell a girl from a boy?!) crept up to his bedside. _An interesting time to visit with the sick._

"Potter," he called out softly when the visitor was two steps away from his bed. She started. "Oh, I am sorry to have startled you."

"I thought you were sleeping," she bit her lip.

"If I had given _you_ any thought, I would have also assumed that you were snoozing quietly in you bed under your brother's watchful eye," Scorpius rose a little from the bed. Lily perched herself on the very edge of the mattress. Apparently, she never went to bed. "Are you ill?"

"No."

"Then what makes your ghost visit the hospital wing?"

"I just… wanted to make sure that you were all right."

"And why is that? You saw me no more than an hour ago, safe and sound," Malfoy knitted his eyebrows together, quite certain of the reason for her visit. And this angered him. "Just don't talk to me about your feeling guilty and grateful for saving your life!"

"Scorpius…"

Now, _that_ he did not expect. His name was not pronounced frequently by anyone, except his parents and now Xenia; and he didn't know that it could sound so powerful, especially when uttered by a girl.

"Don't," he said with an effort, staring at Lily Potter. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon. _Not a good idea; she looks better with her hair out._ Damn, what was he thinking about?! He needs to get her out of here before his body, relaxed by some potion or another, does not come out from under his brain's control. "You shouldn't have come."

"You saved me today," she whispered. _Thank Merlin, she is not moving._

"Potter, why don't you write down your words of gratitude and send them to me by owl post? I want to get some sleep."

"I saw you in my dream. Doing just what you did today: shielding me from danger."

_A dream?! Is it a conspiracy of theirs?_

"I am glad that you dream about me, especially in such an innocent context, but, please, let's talk about it some other time, Potter," Malfoy made a thorough show of yawning emphatically, but the Gryffindor must have been preparing to tell him all this for a while. He wasn't getting out of it that easily. "All right. When did you dream of me?"

"For the last year, regularly; but I didn't know it was you," Lily looked up at him, but the expression on her face was hard to discern in the darkness of the hospital wing. His wand was somewhere close by, but he didn't want to move to get it. Besides, after what she'd said, he didn't need the light. He sat upright sharply, as if afraid to miss a single word. "And today also, during the first period."

"You took off my mask?"

"Yes, but how…?" Lily started a little, when she found him that close to her.

"What does it matter?" Scorpius responded quietly with a question of his own. "So, that was really _your_ dream?"

"Yes. I fell asleep during the class and the masked man came to me again. You. You had been coming for months and months; but I could never see your face. And today I did," she whispered, looking past him, fumbling with the hem of her robes. "In the last weeks you have begun protecting me from something or someone."

"And today you took off my mask. And then I did exactly what I had been doing in your dreams," the Slytherin summarized, raising his eyebrows. "Look at me, will you?" he whispered angrily, taking hold of her chin. "Why did you come here?"

"I am afraid to fall asleep," she said with effort, looking away from Scorpius even though he was holding her face in his grasp. "I am afraid that that _other one_, will now always be in the dream next to you and me…"

"I didn't know that a girl by the name of Potter could be afraid of her own dreams," Malfoy began stroking Lily's cheek with his thumb. "And I don't understand what's to be afraid of: I will be there, as always, to protect you."

"I don't want you to be," she said stubbornly, her eyes half-closed from his light caress. "I am afraid that you won't be able to evade him next time."

"So you are afraid _for_ me? For me in your dream, of all things?" Scorpius looked derisively into her eyes that were finally meeting his. "You, Potters, are so strange. Of all the things you have to be worried about… And, especially, of all _people_…"

She shrank back at his words, but Scorpius grabbed her shoulders, keeping her in place. He winced momentarily from the sharp pain in his bandaged shoulder.

"Shhh, lie down," she must have noticed his fleeting grimace. She pushed on his chest, forcing him down on the bed. He wouldn't let her go now, that he could see her eyes, her lips, feel her weight on top of him. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he shook his head, pressing her harder against him, almost forcing her to lie down. She jerked away. "Now it does."

She laughed. _Merlin, she really did laugh!_

"And what have you found in our situation that is so amusing?" he whispered in her ear, while forcing her head lower to untie the ribbon. Her hair spilled all over their shoulders. The smell of it blew all rational thoughts out of Scorpius' head.

"You are blackmailing me. Let me go," her breathing was choppy; her hands were resting timidly on his chest.

"No. You came here, afraid of monsters that are after you. And I will defend you from them."

"I will not sleep here," Lily whispered, but she didn't pull away, didn't even try.

"Why? Is it too uncomfortable for you?" he raised one silvery eyebrow. He was sure that he would be badgering himself for this behaviour tomorrow – but not until then.

"No," she smiled and then she did something that he had never expected from Lily Potter: she pressed her lips against his – timidly, but firmly. Scorpius, taken aback, moaned quietly, but in the next moment he embraced her in earnest and kissed her with a real kiss, thrusting his tongue between her obediently parted lips.

That's it, he was lost. His arm hurting? _Goblin take it! Let it fall off altogether._ Lily Potter was kissing him. And she was in his arms. In his bed. He slid his hand inside her robes, searching for the buttons on her shirt… She pressed herself into his hand, perhaps only instinctively.

Scorpius drew a deep breath and pulled back. _Damn. Damn. Damn!_ He couldn't; couldn't do it to her. No like _this_. Not here. Not now. He couldn't – and not in a sense of "didn't want to or wasn't capable of." He simply could-not-do-it. Something non-Malfoyish spoke up inside him at the most inconvenient moment.

"Scorpius…" she whispered. But he put his finger against her lips, and then brushed a stray lock of hair away from her cheek and tucked it behind her small ear.

"Shhh, Lily," he felt like he was beginning to get used to saying that name. It was so easy. "I don't think that we should shock Madam Pomfrey like this; or your brother. What if he can't sleep either?! I do not believe that my cold corpse will enhance the décor here."

"Don't joke like that," she asked, sitting up as his hold slackened.

"Forgive me," he covered her hand with his. "But only for the last words. I am not going to apologize for anything else. Because…"

"You just had to say it, didn't you?" Lily stood up abruptly. "I never asked you to apologize."

She turned on her heel and ran out into the hallway, not at all worried about being overheard.

Malfoy slammed his fist into the headboard. There he was, treating a girl like a gentleman for once in his life. And with the same result as when he had put her under the Imperius curse.

Scorpious stared at the ceiling angrily, feeling his agitated heart beat frantically against his ribs. _Boy, do I hate the hospital wing! One couldn't even spend time properly with a girl here!_


	38. Part IV - Chapter 6 - Hermione Weasley

_**Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley.**_

The world had gone mad. It must have, given what happened over the last few days. Because if someone told her at the beginning of September of all that would happen over the next twenty days, she would have told that person that he or she needed a psychiatrist.

Yet there she was, sitting in her own kitchen and trying to accept all that had become a part of her life since that horrible September: werewolves walking around and multiplying at the speed of James' broomstick; Ginny's senseless death; Ron, a werewolf, held hostage by the Ministry; Lily, attacked in Hogsmead; and now a son of Severus Snape spending half the night in her home. It was all impossible.

What could happen next? Would it turn out that Voldemort was alive? Or that he had a nephew, on the warpath to avenge his uncle? Would the Minister of Magic announce that he was part goblin? Or, better yet, would Hugo proclaim that he was gay and in love with Uncle Bill? What else could she expect from a world gone mad?!

Harry walked in. He was seeing off their guest, Theo. They had spent several hours hatching a plan to rescue Ron. Truth be told, Theo's part in this process was quite minimal – he would occasionally utter acerbic comments a la Severus Snape. He was not very active in the discussion. His appearance might be more pleasant than the Potions professor's, but his character was not. Although, if someone asked her, Hermione would have said that he was insufferable when compared to Harry and her other friends, but pleasant when compared to his father. It was not Theo's goal to humiliate people with his remarks, as Severus Snape frequently did; rather, he reacted to the people around him in a peculiar manner that was, however, different from his father's. And Hermione liked that about him; but only a little.

"Harry, where shall we get a house elf?" Hermione broke the silence once her friend settled down at the table across from her. He looked tired. She should send him off to bed, but would he go?

"I don't foresee a problem," Harry answered suddenly, making Lupin almost choke on the cookie he was trying to swallow at that precise moment.

"Meaning? Do you know where you could get one?" Hermione clarified, wondering if her friend was suffering from extreme fatigue.

Harry leaned back in his chair and nodded.

"We shall break Ron out of the hospital in the morning," he said, as if summing up an internal dialogue.

"Pardon my idle curiosity, but where _shall_ we get a house elf?"

"We'll borrow one from the Malfoys," Harry replied simply, tapping his hand on the tabletop.

_Yep, Potter has gone mad._

"Are you serious?" Lupin echoed, raising his eyebrows. "Are you really going to borrow a house elf from the Malfoys?"

Harry nodded as he got up, apparently having made a decision.

"I shall ask Scorpius Malfoy for a loan of a house elf. I am certain he will oblige."

"What makes you so sure?" Hermione also got to her feet. And then she remembered that, which had been driven to the back of her mind by the visit from Snape's son and the subsequent plotting of Ron's rescue. "Why had McGonagall summoned you? You never told us."

Harry nodded, thrusting his hands into his pockets. Then he briefly recounted the events in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione felt ill at the mere thought of werewolves being at Hogwarts; and of Lily and James walking right into them; and of Malfoy, who…

"Do you trust Malfoy for the simple reason that he shielded your daughter from a beast?" Hermione clarified, not sure why the very thought was so repulsive to her. Harry merely nodded. "Harry, he is a Malfoy!"

"A surname is not a stigma, which this boy has proven. And he had been proving it for all the years that he and James were friends. We simply refused to see anything in him other than a son of Draco Malfoy. He is Scorpius, not Draco." Harry walked over to Hermione and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, I would trust that boy with my own life, were I not afraid for his own. Do you trust me?"

She nodded, accepting his reasoning, but still refusing to acknowledge the boy's trustworthiness. Should he help save Ron, however, she would publicly announce that she was mistaken on account of at least one Malfoy.

"I need to go to Hogwarts. I don't think McGonagall would have had the time to change the password for her fireplace."

"How will you get into the Slytherin Common room?"

"As far as I know, Malfoy is in the hospital wing," Harry had already walked into the living room and was taking the Floo powder from a jar. He stepped into the fireplace and vanished amidst the green flames. Hermione looked at Lupin, standing in the doorway, also took a handful of the powder, and soon walked out of the Hogwarts Headmistress' study.

"Hermione?" Harry said, surprised, as she joined him right outside the door. She followed him stubbornly, her whole demeanor saying that this concerned her no less that her friend.

They tried to pass the gargoyle as quietly as possible, and walked down the hallway, dimly lit by several torches. It had been a long while since Hermione wandered the school like this, and she took pleasure in looking at the walls, the sleeping portraits, and the tapestries that concealed secret doors and passages.

Harry walked a step behind Hermione and, as they turned the corner toward the hospital wing, it was only she who saw a slender figure in robes and with flowing red hair, before it disappeared around the corner at the opposite end of the hallway.

"What's wrong?" Harry practically walked into her back, but Hermione merely shook her head, biting her lip. Trusting Malfoy, indeed. However, might the Slytherin not be the only patient in the hospital wing?

They quietly entered the dark room. Hermione's hope waned – there was only one bed in it. She and Harry approached it, and the boy lying on the bed stirred, rising:

"Merlin, am I having a night of incredible visitations? When am I to have time to recover?"

Harry lit the tip of his wand, so that Malfoy could see who they were. The boy sat up straighter.

"Hello," and, as Hermione stared in amazement, Harry held his hand out to the Slytherin, who shook it. The world had gone crazy, indeed, if Harry Potter was exchanging handshakes with a Malfoy. "I am glad that you are awake."

"As if I could help it," said the Slytherin a little irritably, looking at his unexpected guests. "Although… Why am I complaining? What other student could boast of the famous Harry Potter and the Deputy Chief of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement visiting him in the hospital wing?"

Hermione shook her head, frowning. _An incorrigible young man with a silly sense of humour._ Harry extinguished his wand and directed it toward the front door and Madam Pomfrey's office. Probably casting a _Muffliato_ spell.

"Were you simply passing by or are you here for a reason?"

Hermione was itching to swat the top of this silvery blond head to get him to stop horsing around, but Harry was smiling and seemed not at all put out by those words. _Ron. He will help us save Ron_, she kept repeating to herself in an attempt to calm down. It didn't work.

"We need your help," Harry tried to keep his voice down.

"Oh, Mr. Potter, I'd be delighted to help, but can it wait till morning? I am in no condition right now. Come morning, I can fight goblins, restrain werewolves, or even face off a dragon…," Scorpius moaned in exaggeratedly weak voice.

Harry chuckled. _Merlin, what is going on here?! Malfoy is behaving like the worst of…, and Harry seems to like it?!_

"No, you don't have to do anything like that. We simply need a house elf."

"A house elf?" Malfoy asked, even sitting straighter in surprise.

"Yes."

"That's all?"

"Yes," Harry smiled once again. _Why does he keep smiling when talking to _him_?_

"All right. What elf do you need?"

"What do you mean?" Harry didn't understand.

"Well… I don't know: young or old, male or female?" the Slytherin enumerated as if he were a merchant in a shop.

"It doesn't matter," Harry shrugged his shoulders, "We need him to do something for us."

"All right, then I shall give you mine," Scorpius grinned. "Dong, come here, quickly!"

A sudden bang made Hermione start, and a small house elf wrapped in a clean towel with a monogram appeared at Scorpius' bedside, bowing deeply. It seemed that Malfoys changed at least in once respect, considering what Harry used to see Dobby wear during his service to this family.

"The young master is in the hospital. Is the young master hurt?" the elf babbled, his huge almond-shaped eyes widening in shock.

"Stop it," Malfoy ordered. "Do you see this gentleman?" the youth motioned at Harry.

"Yes, of course, this… this is _Harry Potter_!" Dong jumped and once again bowed, almost to the ground. "This is the greatest, the most…"

"If my father hears you, your ears will become a part of his study's wall décor," Malfoy snorted, looking, however, quite pleased with his elf. Hermione gasped.

"That is cruel!" she protested.

"Hermione, wait," Harry asked. His expression reminded her of the times of S.P.E.W.

"Anyway, Dong, you will go with Mr. Potter, do everything he asks you, and, when he releases you, return here. And I will even allow you to fuss over me. And remember – not a word about anything that you are going to do, do you understand? Not even to me."

Dong nodded and turned his gaze to Harry.

"I will only need you for a day, maybe even less," Harry reassured the elf. "Then I will let you go. Nothing dangerous."

"What does Dong need to do for the great Harry Potter?" the elf squeaked, looking sideways at Malfoy. Hermione sighed quietly – they would have an elf after all. They would rescue Ron. And she didn't care about this filthy little toad named Malfoy and his exercises in eloquence.

"You will now go to Hermione and Ron Weasley's house. Wait for us there, ok?" Harry nodded to the elf who disappeared with a bang. Then Harry turned toward Malfoy: "Won't you even ask why we are borrowing your elf?"

The Slytherin shrugged his shoulders:

"Well, I have the general idea. For yet another heroic deed, a rescue mission, or something else in the spirit of Harry Potter. Am I wrong?"

Hermione only managed to stay quiet because this terrible boy's elf was waiting home for them at that very moment. However, she felt like slapping Harry for the disgusting smirk on his face. Where did it come from? How could her Harry have this grin? Time to leave, now.

"Thank you. For everything," Harry stood up and once again shook Malfoy's hand. Hermione gritted her teeth, turned on her heels demonstratively, and headed toward the exit.

"Good bye," she said curtly over her shoulder.

"Get well," she heard Harry say.

Hermione hoped that one day a hippogriff would trample this boy, finishing the job it had started on his father.

Harry caught up with her in the hallway. He didn't say anything, but when Hermione glanced at him, she saw a slightly derisive smile on her friend's face.

"What?" she hissed when they reached the gargoyle and stepped onto the moving staircase.

"I never thought that you could be this unforgiving toward a child."

"He is not a child. He is a Malfoy; the son of Draco Malfoy who made your life miserable in school," Hermione retorted. Then she took the Floo powder and disappeared in the fireplace without a backward glance.

Her anger abated a little when, back in her living room, she saw Teddy Lupin setting up the chessboard and, by all appearances preparing for a match with the Malfoy's house elf. Hermione slumped in the chair and shook her head, realizing that the world, indeed, had gone bonkers!


	39. Part IV - Chapter 7 - Teddy Remus Lupin

Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin.

"Dong, where did you learn to play chess like this?" Lupin broke the silence in the living room. He was whispering because his godfather had finally fallen asleep in the chair by the fireplace, his black-haired head resting on his shoulder. Hermione was reading, occasionally glancing at Lupin – with disapproval, and at Harry – with tenderness and concern.

"The young master, Master Scorpius, loves playing chess, sir," the elf squeaked, neatly putting away the figures as the game ended. "Master Scorpius often plays chess with Dong when he is punished."

"Punished?" Hermione echoed, nearly dropping her book. "What do you mean by 'punished'?"

"Dong is forbidden to talk about it, sir Harry Potter's friend," the elf put away the chess board, then minced over to Harry's chair, picked up a tartan, and carefully tucked it around his sleeping temporary master. "The Malfoy Master sometimes gets very angry at the young Master Scorpius. And then Dong and the young Master play chess."

Lupin exchanged glances with the slightly shocked Hermione. Her face was brightly illuminated, even as the rest of the room was shrouded in pre-dawn gloom. The light of several candles allowed Hermione to read.

Silence resumed. Lupin glanced at his watch – half past four. Theo had promised to come at six, to finalize all the details and confirm that they had obtained a house elf. Very soon Ron would be freed from his peculiar incarceration, and Harry and Hermione would be easier.

"Would the masters like some tea?" Dong squeaked, looking around for something else to do.

"No, sit down and don't fuss, please," Hermione asked, her nose again buried in the book. "Or, better yet, go get some sleep. You can use the guest room."

Dong bowed and obediently shuffled toward the stairs.

"Do you think he was serious? About the punishments?" Hermione whispered, setting aside her book.

"Hermione, can it be that you are capable of pitying a Malfoy?" Lupin smiled softly.

"I was always capable of pitying Malfoys!" she retorted, folding her legs under her. "Pity is the only emotion they deserve."

"Do you truly believe that our James would be friends with a person who could arouse nothing but pity?"

"He could, to be contrary," Hermione refused to acknowledge her own stubbornness on the topic. "And if it were only James…"

"Meaning?"

Hermione looked at Harry who was snuffling, his mouth slightly agape, and then looked back at Lupin:

"When we went to Hogwarts to visit Malfoy, I saw Lily dashing out of the hospital wing."

"And did Harry?" for some reason Teddy smiled. He didn't see any harm in what Hermione related. First, he had never dealt with Malfoys; he didn't have any preconceived notions regarding them. Second, Teddy could still remember his school years and what it was like to be stuck for many months in the company of other teenagers. Infatuations and crushes were as wide-spread at Hogwarts as the fireworks of the Weasley brothers, dungbombs, and crawling crib sheets for exams.

_So what if Lily visited her brother's friend in the hospital? Even at night. Even alone._ Teddy merely smiled, remembering spending a week in the hospital bed after a run-in with the Whomping Willow. His girlfriend visited him at night. He didn't think that anything untoward could have happened under those conditions. The atmosphere was simply too… non-conducive.

"I didn't tell him anything," Hermione leaned back in her chair. "Do you think I should have?"

"No. If it is something serious, Lily will tell him later herself. And if not – there is no need to say anything; especially, since Harry has more than enough on his mind already."

Hermione nodded and got back to her book. Lupin drifted off to sleep, hoping that all this hullabaloo would be over tonight and Ron would be safe. Harry intended to send his friend to his London dwelling, which nobody would be able to find, even if they did know where to look for Ron.

Ted had never been to that house, and Harry did not like to talk about all it was connected with. His godfather loved _The Burrow_, loved Hermione's house, used to love his own home. _Will he ever come to terms with his loss? Will he ever be able to cross the threshold of the house where he had been so happy with the woman he loved?_ Teddy was not sure. However, anything having to do with Harry Potter could not be claimed with one hundred percent confidence.

Teddy started at the sight of Theo coming out of the fireplace. Apparently, Harry had told him the password to the Weasley's home Floo network, so that the Healer would not be spotted next to the house.

"Good morning," Theo said slowly, taking in the cozy picture of the sleeping Harry (godfather's glasses slipped off his nose, giving his a defenceless look), of Hermione reading by candlelight (she tried to smile at their guest, although it was clear that she did not anticipate a response), and of Lupin reclining on the couch.

Teddy nodded, stretching. Hermione sat up straight, lowering her feet to the floor.

Are you not going to wake Mr. Potter?" the Healer inquired, stepping away from the fireplace. "Would he want to miss all the heroics?"

Lupin chuckled, watching Hermione get up and walk over to his godfather. Teddy was looking at their guest with curiosity. He knew a lot about Severus Snape, and especially about his relationship with the Marauders. He also knew about the period when his father was employed at Hogwarts, and Severus Snape would make the Wolfsbane potion for him; and then let it loose around the school that his father was a werewolf. He was a strange man, Severus Snape. What could they expect from his son who, according to Harry, never got to meet his father?

Harry sat up straight and adjusted his glasses.

"Hello, Theo," he nodded to his guest and gazed around. "Where is Dong?"

With a loud bang, the elf materialized in the middle of the room as soon as his temporary master uttered the words.

"What do you desire, sir Harry Potter?"

Lupin caught a momentary expression of disgust on Theo's face, but the other immediately resumed his usual unruffled demeanor.

"All right," Theo said, without looking at anyone. "My watch," he glanced at it, "shows two minutes past six."

Lupin adjusted his watch and stood up.

"I shall send over the password and the time with an owl," Theo nodded, turned around, and soon disappeared in the fireplace.

"Brevity is the sister of talent?" Hermione grinned, folding the tartan, while Harry sat down and beckoned to Dong.

"You will have to Apparate, and not alone, either. You have to bring my godson into a room at St. Mungo's," Harry pointed toward Lupin, "and then bring him back, along with my friend. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir Harry Potter," Dong squeaked without any further questions. "Dong will Apparate to the hospital with the master's godson, and then he will bring both him and the master's friend back here."

"Correct. Just keep in mind that everything needs to be done quickly and promptly on schedule. Agreed?"

"Dong is ready, master," the elf nodded.

"All right, then you are free for the moment. I shall call you when the time comes," Harry turned toward Lupin, while Dong ran to the kitchen with his own agenda in mind. "Ted, maybe I should be doing this?"

"No, the doctors forbid you to Apparate too frequently, and that definitely includes doing it twice in a span of several minutes. Take care of yourself. I will handle it. And, besides, you may remember that I have always beaten you at casting the _Muffliato_ spell, no matter how hard you tried to outstrip me," Lupin grinned, patting his godfather's shoulder. "Everything will be alright."

Harry nodded, although it was clear that he was worried and uneasy. Teddy thought that it was, perhaps, the first time in Harry Potter's far-from-uncomplicated life that he was asked to sit out, to leave it up to others to perform feats of valor while saving _his_ friend. _It's ok; he deserves a small vacation._

Hermione went to the kitchen to check on Malfoy's elf, and came right back, her eyes full of wonder.

"What?"

"He… the elf… He…"

She never got a chance to finish. Dong appeared in the doorway, carrying two giant trays laden with food. Harry froze in amazement at the sight of victuals enough to feed a platoon. Should Albus not be spending the night at his grandfather, he would have been ecstatic to see the sticky buns, chocolate toffee, marmalade, and other sweets. Dong had also made Harry's favorite eggs, Hermione's favorite toast, and he even mixed yogurt with cereal, the way Lupin usually had it.

"How did he know?" Teddy watched the elf as he walked over to the table with his cargo and began setting the plates down.

"A good elf should guess his master's wishes," Dong said didactically, turning toward the three wizards. "A nutritious breakfast is essential for a body's proper growth."

"Yeah, you tell Malfoy that," Harry grumbled, sitting down in front of his plate. "Our bodies can only grow _improperly_ on this food, broadwise."

They began to eat, all the while waiting for an owl from Theo. Lupin thought that it was strange for the Ministry experts, while laying out security plans for the hospital room, to not take into account that not only wizards might attempt to Apparate to it, against which they had put perimeter defences, but house elves as well! It was so easy. _On second thought… it is probably only easy for Harry Potter and his friends, who were once rescued from a dungeon (and from the Malfoy Manor dungeon, no less!) by a house elf named Dobby._

The owl arrived shortly after seven o'clock. The letter contained just four words: "Eight-fifteen. Peddle Cannons."

"Are they kidding?" Hermione snorted. "They are holding Ron prisoner with spells that can be lifted with the name of his favorite Quidditch team!"

They hurriedly finished their breakfast, and reviewed the plan in detail once more time. At ten minutes past eight, Lupin stood next to the house elf, having handed his watch to Harry.

"Good luck to you," Hermione whispered as the big hand was finishing its track around the dial to come to fifteen minutes after eight. Teddy nodded, then spun in place to Apparate, holding Dong's hand, and thinking about his destination – Room Number Four, Second Floor, St. Mungo's Hospital. He disappeared into the darkness, firmly gripping his wand.

He said the password just as he was bursting out of the constricting gloom. The first thing that occurred to him as soon as he could draw proper breath was that no alarm had been triggered, but there _was_ a loud noise outside the room. Theo must have succeeded in masking their arrival by breaking something in the hallway.

Lupin immediately cast the _Muffliato_ spell on the door and only then looked around. It appeared that he and Dong were in the correct room. Ronald Weasley lay, motionless, on the bed by the wall. He didn't even stir at the sounds and movement in his room. This alarmed Teddy.

"Ron," Lupin called out quietly to the man; no reaction again. Then Teddy took two steps toward the bed and sighed in disappointment as the reality of the situation sank in. _Yes, a well-planned mission, indeed!_


	40. Part IV - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Chapter 8. The Potters.**_

James woke up very early on Friday. He turned over, but, hard though he tried, he could not fall back asleep. He tossed and turned for another fifteen minutes before deciding to get up. _As the saying goes, if you can't sleep yourself, don't let others sleep either._

With this cheery thought he got dressed and left the room where his fellow Gryffindors were still watching their colourful dreams. While on his way, James decided to look in on his sister – well, just to look at her. He quietly opened the prefect's bedroom door and, to his surprise, realized that Lily's neatly made bed was empty. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who had problems sleeping. He should remember to ask his sister why she got up so early, when he saw her.

James ran his hand through his hair, smiling, marched down the hallways, and burst into the hospital wing, basking in the cold autumn sunlight.

Malfoy was sleeping, turned onto his side; one arm dangled off the bed. The silvery hair in the back of his head shone in the ray of sunlight that fell on it. James, biting his lip gibingly, crept to his friend's bedside and then looked around in search of something suitable, which he found on the table by the wall. He took the quill and began slowly tracing it over his friend's face. Malfoy did not react.

James did not like that. He walked quietly around the bed, taking out his wand, aimed, and, eyes narrowed in amusement, whispered the spell. A jet of cold water burst out of the tip of his wand and poured inside the collar of the Slytherin's pajamas.

"What…?!" Malfoy bolted upright and forced his eyes opened. The back and shoulders of his shirt were drenched. His face was indignant at first, but when he saw James, convulsing with silent laughter, he only shook his head, snorting with disdain.

"Boy, you are dumb, Potter," he took off his pajama top, not wanting the contact with wet clothing, and leaned back on the pillow. He then brought his wristwatch closer to his eyes and moaned: "Are you an idiot? It's only six o'clock! I have only been sleeping for a couple of hours!"

"What were you doing staying awake?" James overcame his laughter and sat down on Scorpius' bed with his leg tucked under him. "Spent an interesting night with Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yeah, interesting, indeed, only not with her, but with half of your family!" Malfoy moved his bandaged arm, as if making sure that it was still there.

"Meaning?" James watched his friend's gesturing warily. "What were you doing with half of my family?"

"Solving the world's problems, what else can one do with Harry Potter?" Scorpius, reassured that his arm still obeyed him, calmly lay back and stared at the rather comical expression on James' face.

"Malfoy, since when have you been dreaming of my father?"

"Not funny, Potter. You father was here last night. Together with Hermione Weasley."

"Are you sure that you weren't hallucinating?" James reached his palm out as if to touch the Slytherin's forehead, but under the other's threatening glare, decided that it was a bad idea. "All right, what did my father want with you?"

"They asked for a house elf," Scorpius answered simply.

"What for?" James stared blankly at his friend.

"How do I know?! He is _your_ father."

"And you didn't ask?"

"As if! I was sleepy, you know!" Scorpius sat up on the bad, knocking the Gryffindor off his blanket. "However, it seems that it is not my lot to get any sleep while at least one Potter is located within a ten-kilometer radius."

Right then, the cheerful Madam Pomfrey came out of her office.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, you are awake already!" Scorpius muttered something under his breath. The Healer walked over to her patient's bed. "Mr. Potter, please wait outside while I check the patient's arm once more."

James shrugged his shoulders – he was still contemplating why his father and Hermione would need a Malfoy's house elf – and stepped into the hallway.

Malfoy appeared in fifteen minutes, fully dressed, even his hair neatly combed. His arm was in a sling, which made the Gryffindor want to laugh again. The white bandage just didn't go with the Slytherin's image. Apparently, Scorpius thought so as well, because as soon as he closed the door to Madam Pomfrey's domain, he took the sling off and walked on as if nothing had happened.

"Potter, have you been petrified?" Malfoy called out to the Gryffindor. "We will be the first down to breakfast, so we'll get to eat all the tastiest food, at least once in seven years…"

The two of them went downstairs to the Great Hall, where none of the teachers were present. However, there were five students – two from Ravenclaw (and of different sexes, which made one think that they woke up in the same bed), one from Hufflepuff (already with a textbook), one from Slytherin (my God, Gregory!), and Lily Potter, picking at her food at the Gryffindor table.

James didn't even wave at his friend, as usual, as they joined their respective tables. _And there I was, thinking that she simply woke up early._

The Gryffindor sat down next to his sister and frowned at her tired visage:

"Haven't you forgotten to do something today?"

"Hah? Oh, hello, Jim," she muttered distractedly. "What do you mean?"

"I said, didn't you forget that you were supposed to sleep at night?" the youth inquired sternly, ignoring all the food before him.

"No, I slept," she lied. James could easily tell when she wasn't telling the truth.

"Because of Mum again?" the Gryffindor asked softly, although he sensed that the reason was something else. What was happening to Lily?

"Yes," she nodded.

"So, why?"

"Why what?" she didn't understand.

"Why are you lying to me?" the youth asked flatly, sitting up straight and trying to decide what to eat first.

"Why do you say that?"

"Fine, forget it," James understood that he was not going to get to the truth anyway. He suddenly gripped Lily's shoulders and turned her toward him: "Were you with a guy?"

"What?!" the girl said in a husky voice, blushing a little and not quite looking James in the eye.

"With a guy, then," James surmised, his eyes boring into Lily. "Who is he?"

"James, I didn't…"

"Who is this scoundrel? Who is this goblin, whose toes I shall tear out with my bare hands?! Who dared to touch you?!" James whispered fiercely. Apparently, he had not gotten to the point in his indignation when he would be screaming without restraint, for everyone in the Great Hall to hear. "His name."

"James, pipe down!" Lily resisted feebly. "You are hurting me!"

Everyone looked up at her outcry. James released her shoulders, but was still staring at his sister:

"When I find out, I shall kill him…"

"James, you are talking rubbish. Calm down. Nothing happened."

The Gryffindor, however, was looking around the room. _Damn, Gregory. Of course. Who else?!_

"You were with that bloodsucker?" James hissed, leaning over to his sister. "He is not worth your little finger! And you are only fifteen; what were you thinking when…"

"James, nothing happened! I was just reading, alone!" Lily blurted and jumped to her feet. "I never thought that my own brother would insult me like this! And anyway, it's none of your business! I will sleep with whom I wish!"

Everyone looked on in confusion as Lily ran out of the Great Hall.

"So, what was that spectacle all about?" Malfoy sat down next to James, as was his bad habit, immediately grabbing a piece of toast from a serving plate and biting into it. "What was that 'with whom I wish', eh?"

James glared at the Slytherin table where Gregory was still sitting. Malfoy traced his friend's stare and his face grew longer:

"No, it can't be," he shook his head. "Tell me that I am under a misconception."

"You heard it," James was tearing the innocent napkin into shreds. "I stopped by her room in the morning. She had not gone to bed…"

"How do you know?"

"Because she _was not there_! At six a.m.!"

"You weren't in bed at six a.m, either. So?" Malfoy finished his toast, but did not reach for another one, looking fixedly at his friend.

"Yes, but my bed looked unmade. I have never seen the house elves running in as soon as a student got out of bed!"

"Maybe she made it herself…?" Malfoy suggested hesitantly. James was angry. He would have preferred that Scorpius said something funny or ironic, or began distracting him in his own special manner, rather than sit there and try to rationalize things. The Gryffindor looked up and saw Malfoy look with narrowed eyes at Gregory.

"I asked her where she had been. She started making up stuff. You know?"

Malfoy only nodded, still glaring at Gregory as he got up from the table and left the Great Hall.

"When I asked whether she had been with a guy, she blushed," James hit his fist on the table so hard that the plates and goblets clinked.

"Ten points off Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," an ingratiating voice said above the Seventh Years. Faust. "For aggressive behaviour at the table." The Head of Gryffindor House glanced at Malfoy and then sailed toward the teachers' table.

The two friends looked at each other, stood up in unison, and left the Great Hall. Both were in the foulest of moods.

"Maybe you misunderstood her, after all?" the Slytherin was still at trying to find excuses for Lily. _Why the hell is he doing it? He himself heard what she yelled for all in the Great Hall to hear?_

Once in the hallway, the chaps decided unanimously to go fly their broomsticks as an outlet to the negative energy and a way to avoid killing someone. They stepped into the frosty air, taking gloves and caps out of their robes' pockets, and James immediately saw THEM.

His sister sat on the bench under a tree, looking at Greg Gregory as he walked up to her. The Slytherin sat down next to Lily. And James realized just then that he was alone on the steps.

Malfoy darted off toward the couple on the bench, reached them in what looked like a couple of long strides, grabbed Gregory by the scruff of his robes, and pushed him away:

"Get away from her!"

James froze. It was as if a light went off in his head. He could not believe it, but everything suddenly seemed to fit.

"Malfoy, what's wrong with you?!" Gregory exclaimed, almost falling and staring at Scorpius in surprise.

"Get away from her and never come close to her again!" Malfoy growled. Gregory looked questioningly at Lily who stood up behind Scorpius. She merely shrugged. Greg tapped himself emphatically on his forehead and walked off toward the castle, but James was no longer paying him any heed.

Stone-faced, he walked to the bench where Lily was blushing furiously and getting ready to give the Slytherin a thorough dressing down. James beat her to it:

"Malfoy! What are you doing?" he said through clenched teeth, staring at Scorpius.

"Have you gone blind? I am defending your sister!"

"No…" James said threateningly, still holding on to the vestiges of his self-control. "Not my sister…"

"Potter, have you really gone blind?!" Malfoy frowned, clearly doubting the Gryffindor's being in sound health.

"That's the thing, I haven't. You weren't defending _my sister_!"

"James…" Lily cautiously joined the conversation, walking out from behind the Slytherin.

"Don't come near me!" James shrank back, still glaring at his friend: "You weren't defending her because she is my sister, were you, Malfoy?!"

"What are you up to, Potter?" Scorpius started to become riled up. He saw James take out his wand and reached for his own.

"Of course, you said it yourself that you only managed two hours of sleep and that my family members visited you for half the night! I simply didn't pay attention then! You distracted me on purpose, talking about my father! You were only pleading her case at breakfast to defend yourself!"

"James," Lily groaned, shaking her head. "What are you saying?"

"Indeed, Potter, stop talking nonsense!" Scorpius fumed, raising his wand against the Gryffindor's. "You are sleep-deprived…"

"Shut up!" James yelled. "How could you? She is only fifteen! I trusted you!"

"I didn't touch your sister, you idiot!" Malfoy was yelling also. A few spectators had gathered around them; someone ran toward the castle.

James did not even bother to answer verbally – he swung back his arm with the wand clutched in it and let the Slytherin have it. Malfoy recoiled, automatically pressing his hand to his battered cheekbone. Blood was seeping out of the corner of his mouth.

"Merlin, James, don't hit him!" Lily gasped, flinging herself at Scorpius, who firmly set her aside. "No!"

Malfoy waved his wand, and James howled in pain when the spell hit him. In another moment, though, he fired his own spell at his adversary, but Malfoy evaded it.

"Stop this!" Lily cried, stepping between the two chaps and spreading her arms. They would not be stopped, however. Almost simultaneously, they both stepped to the right and waved their wands again.

"Stop!" Lily begged, when they both reeled a little. James' left arm was bleeding, Scorpius was bleeding out his nose and lip. "Please, stop!"

Someone's spell hit James in the back, immobilizing him. Apparently, Malfoy was likewise afflicted by the same spell. Quite out of breath, Faust appeared on the battlefield, joined quickly by Slughorn. The Head of Gryffindor House was seething with rage.

"Miss Potter, stop your hysterics," he snarled at the weeping Lily who only sobbed in response. Then Faust stepped in between the duelists, took the wands out of their hands, and only then lifted the spell. "One hundred points off each of you! To the hospital wing, immediately! The Headmistress will hear about this and decide on your punishment. Get out of my sight, and if I ever see anything like this again, you both will be expelled!

James glared scathingly at Lily, without looking at all at Scorpius. Then he turned and plodded away. Malfoy did not move.

"Mr. Malfoy, do you need a personal invitation?" Slughorn asked the youth. Faust was already on his way back to the castle.

"I won't go; I have no need of the hospital wing," he stubbornly wiped the blood off his cheekbone on the sleeve of his robes, also turned, but walked in the opposite direction. Slughorn, apparently deciding that the more time the former friends spent apart, the better, hesitantly patted Lily's shoulder.

"All right, now all of you go inside, no need to stay in the cold," he told the students in good humour. It seemed to Lily that the entire school had gathered there. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and rushed after Scorpius, the innocent victim of James' ire.

"Malfoy," she called out to the Slytherin. He stopped on the lake shore, his hands in his pockets. He turned around.

"What?"

"I am sorry…"

"What about?" Scorpius said wearily, turning again toward the calm dark water. "That the two of us were suspected in having a tawdry affair?"

"I am sorry that you and James quarreled. I don't understand why he decided that I…" she stood next to him, looking confused. He raised his silver eyes up to her face. For the first time she saw a wrenching expression in them.

"We were bound to quarrel eventually," Malfoy closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Over you."

Lily flinched, turned and stood facing him.

"So he was right, wasn't he?"

"About what?" the Slytherin grinned and then winced, probably from the pain in his cheekbone, which had turned purple. "Did you really sleep with Gregory?"

"Very funny," Lily took her wand out of her robes pocket. "May I?"

"Go ahead," Malfoy watched closely as she passed her wand over his nose and lip, and then the cheekbone.

"Done," she put down her wand, but her eyes never left his.

"Thank you."

"So, you really didn't jump down Gregory's throat because of James, did you?" she pressed on. Malfoy stubbornly refused to answer, but his very silence was the answer as far as Lily was concerned. She smiled faintly. "I couldn't sleep last night, either. I was afraid that you would no longer come to me in my dream and defend me. I read a book in the secret room behind a tapestry on the third floor."

"Why are you telling me this?" but the liquid silver was already lapping in his eyes and his arms were reaching for her.

"I don't want you to kill Greg. It was the first time he got up the courage to talk to me after what happened in Hogsmead…" she smiled softly, letting him hold her. "You need to go to the hospital wing."

"Why? I am feeling fine where I am," Scorpius grinned, burying his face in her hair.

"Because it pains you to move, I can feel it."

"Well, then I won't be moving," he said. "I am all right here."

Lily laughed quietly and timidly ran her fingers through his hair. She was feeling well, although her brother was most probably anything but. She was at peace, however, because this man, who had been tormenting her for the past year, finally took off his mask.


	41. Part V - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**Part Five. Argyroneta aquatica**

_*Argyroneta aquatica – a fresh water spider. When descending beneath the surface of the water, the hairs on his legs trap bubbles of air (which makes the spider's body take on a silvery colour) that it uses as breathing air supply._

**_Chapter 1. James Potter._**

_Long live the friendship between Slytherin and Gryffindor houses! Let's overcome prejudice! It's fine for a Potter to be friends with a Malfoy! It is so simple! Keep breaking down stereotypes… There, broken!_

James never thought that he would feel such pain and anger. Pain at his friend's betrayal. Anger at his friend's treachery. _Malfoy had no right!_

If only his conscience would stop telling him that he was wrong.

What difference does it make if he was wrong in details?! He was right about what really mattered – it was his sister! His baby sister, who loved animals, slept in pajamas with salamander print, and had dreams about a masked knight! _A knight, indeed! There's a prophetic dream for you…_

James had been sitting in the secret room behind the tapestry for no less than an hour, angry at the world in general and Malfoy – in particular, when Xenia walked in. Without a word, she knelt down next to James and took out her wand.

"Where does it hurt?"

James did not respond, but she took first one of his hands and then the other, and began whispering spells. The warmth coming out of the tip of her wand began to erase the pain and the needling ache. Xenia put her palm against his chest and James nearly moaned. Warmth again, and again the pain receded, leaving behind only the faint echoes of the morning duel.

"Aren't you cold, sitting on the floor?" she asked.

James shook his head. He really wasn't cold, because he was sitting on his robes, but she couldn't see that in the darkness of the windowless room. He didn't let Xenia sit down on the floor though. He simply stretched out his legs and sat her down on them. She adjusted her skirt and only then began speaking about what had, apparently, brought her there in the first place.

"Do you really believe that Scorpius would do that to you?"

The Gryffindor didn't respond, averting his face.

"James, he is your friend…"

"Xenia…"

"What?"

"Stop it," the youth asked.

"All right, if you do not want to talk, then don't," she attempted to stand up, but he wouldn't let her, placing his hands on her shoulders and holding her down.

"Let's talk; about anything, but Malfoy."

She nodded and changed the angle of her interrogation:

"What possessed you to think that Lily had slept with anyone, let alone Malfoy?"

"Xenia…" James groaned, finally looking at her. She was smiling derisively.

"Why did you think that? Tell me."

The Gryffindor remained silent, stubbornly refusing to discuss it; because if he started talking about it, his mind would quickly prompt the answer: he got riled up and acted out of silly emotions. James refused to admit it even to himself.

"All right. Tell me, when you saw your sister in the morning, how did she look? I mean, was there anything unusual in her face? In her mannerisms?"

James was silent for a time, but then he decided to answer, looking straight at the girl sitting in his lap:

"She looked tired; worn out; absent-minded; as if she had spent a sleepless night."

"Great; and what made you decide that it was a sure sign that she had spent the night with a guy, in the most figurative sense of this word?" the Slytherin grinned, reaching out and running her fingers through his disheveled hair.

"I told you…"

"James Potter," she said softly, "one can spend a sleepless night for reasons other than making love! And you know it full well! She simply couldn't sleep all night. And that is all there was to it!"

"What 'all'?" he had become distracted because Xenia was stroking his hair. It felt nice.

"James, Merlin take you! You sister always has everything written on her face! She cannot hide strong emotions! And neither can you, for that matter!" she smiled faintly. "Sometimes I think that Scorpius is right in saying that you, Potters, were never taught to pretend. You never hide your feelings, and when you try, you don't do it well."

"I think that I have lost the train of this discussion," James growled.

"I am saying that Lily would not have been able to hide an important event in her life so well. Something would have given her away…"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," the girl shrugged her shoulders. "An unusual spark in her eyes, woolgathering, a distracted smile… Or, on the contrary, looking unusually upset. I am not even talking about the physical discomfort."

"I'll take your word for it," James snorted, clearly unwilling to hear too many details. "It doesn't prove anything."

"Well, your arguments are not all that conclusive, either!" Xenia pulled her hand out of his hair and the Gryffindor felt somehow bereft. "All right, if you really want me to, I can find out for certain."

"What do you mean? How is it possible?" the youth asked animatedly.

"Well, in our History of Healing class we were told about this spell that was used in medieval times when a son of a pure-blood family was about to take a bride," she narrowed her eyes suggestively.

James understood what she implied and his very being opposed it:

"No! Don't!"

She gave a soft laugh:

"I knew you would refuse."

"How?" he took her cool hand in his and began playing with the slender fingers, like he did before, in the History of Magic class.

"You are James Potter, after all. Subterfuge and manipulation is not in character for you," Xenia remarked.

"When did you have the time to learn my character?" James realised with surprise that his anger had vanished, to be replaced with resignation. She didn't respond, merely smiled again. "All right, maybe I got a little carried away with Lily…" he saw her raise her eyebrows and corrected himself: "All right, not just a little. I got _really_ carried away. But I wasn't wrong about Malfoy. He _was_ jealous of Gregory!"

"So what's wrong with that?" Xenia shifted a little, allowing blood to circulate through his legs again. "Scorpius has liked Lily for a long time. Is it bad?"

"And what's so good about it?" James persisted stubbornly. "She is only fifteen, and about to take her O.W.L.s…"

"Hold on! Aren't you mixing unrelated issues here? What does her age have to do with it, let alone the upcoming exams?"

"It's too early for her to go out with blokes!"

"And what made you think that it was up to you to decide for your sister? She appears to me quite fit to make her own decisions. Especially since I can't believe that you have never noticed many other boys looking at her."

"Looking is one thing…" the Gryffindor muttered, looking down at their entwined hands.

"And haven't you realised that you would be powerless to stop it? If it's not Malfoy, it will be someone else! Gregory , for instance. Isn't it better for your concerned brotherly heart to entrust your sister to your best friend, and not some stranger?"

James didn't say anything, all his energy spent on ignoring Xenia's voice of reason, as well as his, speaking in accord.

"Especially since Lily has liked Malfoy for a long time."

"What?!" the chap even jumped, almost knocking the girl off his lap. "Where did you get that?"

"I look with my eyes, James," she grinned, quoting Malfoy. "I am not beset by brotherly responsibility and concern, inflated to the size of a herd of hippogriffs."

James sighed heavily. She demolished all his arguments and proofs in a little over twenty minutes. There was nothing more to say, because she would counter every argument of his with a pile of hers. And in the end he would be forced to _beg_ Malfoy to date his sister. No, _that_ he would never do; out of sheer stubbornness, if nothing else.

"Listen, something strange is going on," he said.

"What?" the girl looked warily around her.

"It's that we are alone," the Gryffindor put his hand on her thigh, "in a dark room," he ran his hand up and under her uniform skirt, "and, for some reason, we are speaking about Malfoy. Speaking, instead of using the occasion."

She laughed and promptly leaned forward to kiss him, allowing him to wrap his arm around her waste and pull her close. Time stopped once again, as it did every time James kissed her, tasted her, smelled her.

"We will have to stop, anyway," she whispered into his lips, stroking his back.

"What for?"

"Well, for one thing, because this is not the best place for such pastime," she drew back a little. "The class period is about to be over and anyone can come in here. Starting with Filch."

James sighed with disappointment and nodded his assent. For some reason, he always wanted to agree with everything when he was with her.

He helped her up and got to his feet as well.

"By the way, why aren't _you_ in class? Don't you have Transfiguration right now?!

"I told McGonagall that I wasn't feeling well," she shrugged her slender shoulders, walking out into the still empty hallway. They walked to the nearest window.

"And she believed you?"

"Of course," she glanced at him. "I really am not feeling well."

"Are you ill?" James asked worriedly, looking her over head to toe, as if trying to ascertain that she was all right.

"No, not ill," Xenia smiled, standing by the window. "It's just that sometimes… such things happen."

And for the first time since they met, Xenia blushed. James understood what she meant and looked down. He now knew what she meant by 'we will have to stop anyway'.

The Gryffindor looked up at his girlfriend to find that she had turned toward the window and was looking at something. He stepped forward and also peered out. Lily and Scorpius were walking toward the castle. They were smiling and holding hands.

"You know," Xenia said, turning toward James, "I think that you just pushed them closer."

"Why is that?"

Xenia grinned, looking at James' annoyed face:

"Malfoy would have been going on denying the very idea of liking your sister; that's just how he is. And Lily is too proud and completely inexperienced in dealing with boys to make the first move. They would have continued to give each other dirty looks and trade barbs, had you not so brilliantly supposed them to be lovers."

James frowned, while Xenia laughed.

"If he hurts her, I…"

"Oh, come on! How can you think that Malfoy would hurt her? He is your friend, after all! He would rather kill himself than betray you or hurt someone close to you! Haven't you realised it?" she looked at him gravely.

James shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, averting his eyes and turning away from the window:

"Well, all right then… If they are happy together… If she is happy with Malfoy…"

"She will be, don't worry," Xenia smiled and walked down the hall. James didn't like her smile – the smile of a person who knows more than she says. He caught up with her and stopped her, taking her hand:

"You are hiding something. How do you know that they will be good together?"

"Me? I simply go from my humble observations," Xenia said cunningly, clearly holding something back.

"Speak, or I shall not leave you alone. What was it that you observed?"

Xenia narrowed her eyes, as if deliberating:

"All right, but only if you promise that you make up with Malfoy and apologize to your sister. Then I shall tell you."

"Yeah, as if…" James began stubbornly, and the Slytherin shrugged her shoulders, turning to walk away again. "All right, I promise. Tell me."

"Scorpius gave Lily her first kiss," Xenia purred, extremely pleased with herself.

"What?!" James jumped. "How did you..?"

"Well, I _think_ it was the first…"

"Dammit, that's not what I am talking about! When?"

"Does it matter? Can you change anything?" Xenia laughed at his confusion. "James, Lily is fifteen, not ten, stop being so overprotective; especially since she doesn't need to be protected, I wager; at least in this aspect of her life."

"What? Which aspect?" the Gryffindore demanded.

"That very one," she patted James' cheek. "Trust me: all will be well."

"How can you know that?"

"Well, I think Scorpius is quite a good kisser," the Slytherin laughed and pulled her friend along. The bell sounded just then, and students filled the hallway. James sighed in resignation and walked with Xenia.

_Long live the friendship between Gryffindor and Slytherin! And, apparently, even more than just friendship…_


	42. Part V - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

_**Chapter 2. Lily Potter.**_

"Scorpius…"

No reply, no movement.

"Scorpius…"

Eyes closed; hair in a silver halo around the pale, slightly pointed face; head, so comfortably resting in her lap, turned slightly to the side.

"Scorpius, are you sleeping?" she put her hand on his evenly rising and falling chest, against the Slytherin embroidery.

"No," he muttered without opening his eyes, yet catching her hand to keep it from moving away.

"Why didn't you respond then?"

"Just trying to get used to the sound of my name coming from your lips; you never even faltered," he grinned, while tracing his fingertips along the back of her hand.

"Well, it is no more difficult than to pronounce your surname," Lily timidly touched his hair with her other hand. He flinched. Lily frowned. "What?"

"Let's go inside," he sat up abruptly, opening his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because your hands are cold. And if you become ill, I shall not only be blamed for your outraged honour, but for your ruined health as well," the Slytherin snorted, getting up from the bench on which he had lounged so pleasantly for the last twenty minutes, and pulling Lily along with him. "I am not sure which reason for my demise I prefer more…"

Lily shook her head, smiling: oddly, she was not at all annoyed now by his nasty habit of scoffing at everything. It had been a while since she did so much smiling.

It was so pleasant and yet so strange to be strolling down the trail with him, holding hands. Malfoy, on the other hand didn't seem at all phased by it.

"Listen, were you serious when you said that you would shave your head bald if you had red hair?" Lily looked playfully at her companion. He squeezed her cold fingers a little tighter and grinned.

"No. Because I simply would not have lived long enough to face such a dilemma," the Slytherin said philosophically. "I think that, should my father have seen such a disgrace on his heir's head, he would have drowned me in the Malfoy Manor pond in as many minutes as it would have taken him to walk out of the house and reach the aforementioned pond."

Lily bit her lip, unsure whether to laugh or to pity poor Malfoy.

"And don't you pity me; I am not a red-head after all," it was as if he had read her thoughts. "Although I do believe that in some situations this colour is perfectly acceptable."

"Was that a compliment?" Lily turned a little toward him only to catch the smug expression on the Slytherin's face.

"No, simply a statement of a widely known fact," he shrugged his shoulders, although his eyes were telling another tale.

"Do you ever speak what's on your mind?" the girl asked reproachfully, still smiling.

"Of course," Scorpius nodded eagerly. "I always speak my mind."

"Then I simply fear for your poor mind that produces thoughts like that," she laughed, pressing a little against his hand. He also smiled; she could sense it. How strange it was, being able to sense his smile…

"My mind is quite happy with itself. And even proud to a degree," Scorpius chuckled.

Lily bit her lip, contemplating. She realised that she wanted to know so much about him! But how? Would he answer?

"Scorpius," she squeezed his hand tighter, "remember, Professor Faust said that you father came to take you home..?" Malfoy nodded, looking a little surprised; perhaps, by the very fact of her remembering it. "Why did he want to take you from school?"

"I think he was a bit bored without me. I would usually do an evening show… you know, recite poetry, sing his favorite Christmas carols, do a hand stand…"

Lily sighed, feeling sad and even a tad offended. Scorpius must have realised it, because he pulled her closer by the hand, smiling a little with his Malfoy smile:

"All right, I didn't sing; I am absolutely tone deaf, as a matter of fact."

Lily shook her head, accepting that she would probably never be able to truly understand him. He didn't want to tell her about his family. And he simply refused to be serious.

They were already close to the castle when the bell rang.

"We missed a class period," she remarked.

"Yes… And what do prefects get for that?" Scorpius raised a blond eyebrow, stopped, and looked at her. "Beat their heads against the wall in penitence, like house-elves? Mind you, I won't let you. Better get that idea right out of your head."

"Worried about my head?"

"No, about the wall," Scorpius reached out with a mocking smile and began adjusting her tie. "Let's not give your brother yet another idiotic reason to think that I have encroached upon your honour. Who knows to what suspicions a poorly knotted tie might drive him!" Lily would have laughed if not for the newly resurfacing thoughts about her brother. "Oh, no, don't you pity him! He was the one who single-handedly fashioned for himself a morning filled with unexpected discoveries; as in 'if there is no danger to be thwarted and become a hero, conjure it…'"

"You both are so strange," the girl sighed as they were ascending the stairs. "You always talk about each other with something like disdain; not like friends. I cannot fathom, how is it that you have not killed one another yet?"

"Well, Potter thinks about it every now and then, but then he takes one look at me," Scorpius straightened his shoulders, "and realises that he doesn't stand a chance."

Lily laughed again, unable to resist the man's strange charm.

"I have the second hour of Potions now," she pointed at the entrance to the dungeons. "But I have to go get my bag first."

"All right," Malfoy let go of her hand. "And as for me, I shall hang about for a bit. I am bound to get detention anyway, so I might as well use the time to my enjoyment; or else I might go and finally get some sleep."

Lily nodded and ran up the stairs, feeling as though she'd grown wings, feeling his eyes on her. Could she have imagined even last night that she would spend a whole hour alone with Malfoy and not once get angry at him? No, she couldn't have, because all through the night, sitting in the secret room behind the tapestry, she damned him with every curse word she knew; for being so sarcastic, for being so dense, even for being so blasted noble!

Lily grabbed her schoolbag and hurried back to the dungeons, unsure of how to even begin to explain to Professor Slughorn her absence during the first hour. However, the Head of Slytherin house only smiled benevolently when the girl walked into the classroom, muttering apologies.

The cauldrons were boiling and her classmates glanced in her direction – some suspiciously and some with nasty smirks. She hadn't taken that into account. It appeared that the entire school had heard that the Gryffindor prefect was sleeping with a Slytherin; and not just any Slytherin, but Scorpius Malfoy. And there was nothing she could say to defend herself!

"Ms. Potter, how are you?" Professor Slughorn asked solicitously, making his way toward the desk where Lily was setting up her cauldron. Hugo was staring at her sullenly, even forgetting at times to stir his own potion. "I trust that your brother is well?"

Lily nodded, to avoid speaking as well as to hide her flaming face from other students.

"Wonderful. I think that you shall have time to prepare one of the assigned potions," Slughorn pointed his wand at the blackboard, where the recipes for two potions were inscribed. "The second one, however, you shall have to master on your own; _not_ that it will be a problem for such an intelligent and talented young lady…"

Lily nodded at the floor yet again, lighting the fire under her cauldron and starting to prepare the potion without even a thought as to its title. Damn, she had never had a morning like this in her life!

By lunchtime, she was ready to scream. Her guess had been spot on – the entire school had now heard about her row with her brother and the ensuing duel between two best friends. Lily's only hope was that the salacious tidings of her moral lapse did not yet reached the teachers.

Many a female student glanced threateningly in her direction; apparently, the Gryffindor was not the only one who liked Scorpius. Students from her House were shaking their heads sadly, as though she had committed a crime. The Weasley cousins teased her in their usual style; many of them did not take the gossip seriously, for which Lily was grateful.

However, when Cousin Charlotte grabbed her by the hand before lunch and asked conspiratorially: "So? Is Malfoy any good?" Lily growled, stomped her foot, and rushed off, in order to get as far as possible from the students' probing eyes. She spent dinnertime at the library, catching up on Potions.

Her mind, however, was not on Potions and not even on her current situation. She pondered James' absence in the classroom. _Where is he? What is he doing? Is he still angry?_ She had to find him and talk to him. Others could think what they wished as far as she was concerned, but her brother's opinion of her was important to Lily.

And so, Lily left the library and hurried down the hallway, in search of James. As far as she knew, he didn't have any more classes after lunch.

She saw Xenia in the Entrance Hall and it suddenly dawned upon her to ask the Slytherin of her brother's whereabouts. Xenia smiled amiably:

"He is serving detention in the Transfiguration classroom."

"Practicing penmanship again?"

"Apparently. He and Scorpius are quite adept at it by now," Xenia shrugged her shoulders, and then looked at Lily in alarm: "Why are you so pale?"

"They are in detention _together_?! The two of them?!" the Slytherin nodded, raising her eyebrows. "They will kill one another!"

"Lily, wait!" Xenia cried as the Gryffindor ran for the stairs, but Lily didn't look back. She reached the classroom in just a couple of minutes and burst in, panting. What she saw made her freeze to the spot in the doorway.


	43. Part V - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

Chapter 3. Harry Potter.

Time dragged on while the heart raced.

Harry was used to being in the centre of events and he was simply unable to sit and wait. Worry tugged at his nerves, pulling them tight as strings.

Hermione sat still in her chair, staring fixedly into the fire in the fireplace. What was she feeling? Harry had long stopped asking himself that question; because he wasn't really supposed to.

Plus, she didn't speak of herself often. It was more about Ron, the children, the numerous relatives, work, Harry; but never about Hermione Weasley.

Back in the hospital, when he regained consciousness, it seemed like she spoke about herself for the first time; and yet, not really about herself. It was just that she was the prism through which Harry could see what had happened in their world; the world they shared, decimated and full of pain. And once again, the centre of Hermione's life was not herself.

And today she was not thinking of herself; about Ron.

Harry knew that all her thoughts in the last few days revolved around Ron.

They heard a bang. Even though Harry had been waiting for this sound, he was frightened. And then he froze in horror, because the elf returned alone, without Teddy or Ron. Hermione jumped to her feet.

"What happened?"

Dong bowed to Harry and spoke:

"Sir Harry Potter's godson ordered me to return here. Sir Harry Potter's godson asked me to tell you that the friend of Sir Harry Potter's is under the Imperius Curse. Sir Harry Potter's godson said that he couldn't lift the spell from Sir Harry Potter's friend because he feared, Sir Harry Potter, that the guard would become immediately aware of it. Sir Harry Potter's godson is asking what he is to do, Sir Harry Potter."

"He cannot Apparate with Ron while he is under the Imperius curse?" Hermione crouched next to the elf.

"Sir Harry Potter's godson told Dong that Sir Harry Potter's friend had been ordered to be still, to lie down, and to not do anything without permission," the elf mumbled. "Sir Harry Potter's godson fears that he won't be able to Apparate with Sir Harry Potter's friend; that they can become splinched should Sir Harry Potter's friend begin to resist."

Harry was thinking frantically what was to be done. Teddy was right – it was dangerous to Apparate with a resisting man. And if they lifted the spell, which was complicated in itself, the person who had cast the spell in the first place would likely immediately sense the broken connection and raise the alarm. How long would it take before they bust into the room and found Ron gone?

However, there was no other way. Harry said "Wait!" to Dong as he ran out of the room and up the stairs to the room where he slept, found his bag and at the bottom of it – his father's Invisibility cloak, which he had wisely carried with him.

"Here," Harry, returning swiftly back to the living room, handed the bundle to the elf and looked him straight in the eye: "Tell Lupin that he should hide himself and you under the cloak, Stun Ron and immediately – do you hear? that very second! – Disapparate. If they react instantly, which they probably will, they must not see you. Do you understand, Dong?"

"Yes, Sir Harry Potter," and the house-elf repeated Harry's instructions word-for-word.

"Don't Apparate here, but to my house in London. Memorize this address: Grimmauld Place, 12, the kitchen in the basement."

"Grimmauld Place, 12," Dong repeated, and Harry was now certain that the thrio would be able to get from the hospital straight to the house that was hidden by every protective spell imaginable. "Go!"

Dong vanished with a loud bang. Harry hoped that the _Muffliato_ spell that Lupin put up in Ron's room was still holding.

"Hermione, we are almost out of time," Harry jumped to his feet. "To the bedroom, now, take off your clothes, so it would seem like you have been sleeping. Hurry!"

Without further ado, Hermione rushed upstairs, taking her hair out as she ran. Harry looked around him and using his wand, began putting away everything that could alarm the early visitors. And visitors they would have…

When the tray and the breakfast leftovers were gone, Harry hastily unbuttoned his shirt, sank onto the couch and covered himself with a tartan. He then took off his glasses and put them on the side table. Then he quickly put out all candles but one.

He had barely had time to do all that when bangs sounded outside the house, and six men wearing badges of the Minister's personal security detail burst in through the spell-blasted door.

Harry jumped up and immediately reached for his glasses, as if he had just woken up.

"What is wrong?" he even made a show of pulling out his wand. They had to put on a good show or they wouldn't be left alone.

"Mr. Potter, he received an alert that your house had been infiltrated by a werewolf under the guise of one of your friends," the oldest and most powerful-looking wizard reported. Harry struggled to remember his name. _Oh, yes, Cormack._ "We have to search the house."

"What made you think so?" Harry asked in surprise that seemed quite genuine, while praising the Ministry folks, inwardly, for a believable excuse. "The Polyjuice potion again?"

Cormack merely nodded as his people were already scattered around the house.

"Is there anyone else in the cottage?"

"Yes, Hermione Weasley. She is asleep," Harry sat down on the couch, feigning confusion. But inwardly, he kept telling himself: "Ron is free. It worked."

"What is going on here?" Hermione was descending the stairs, tying the belt of her robe. "Harry?"

"They said that a werewolf has penetrated the house under the guise of one of my friends," he replied. "I hope it isn't you?"

"Very funny," the woman drawled, playing along. "You can check, if you wish. Ask me something that I alone would know."

Harry thought about it, but for some reason he could only think of mere trifles. Having decided that no better ideas would come to him, he asked:

"Remember that evening during our fifth year, when I returned from the Room of Requirement, after a meeting with Cho? How did you describe Ron and his emotions?" Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Hermione's face grow long.

"I said that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon," Hermione answered, biting her lip. She was also afraid she would laugh, like she did back then. Harry nodded and sat down on the couch, moving aside to give her room.

"It is you, indeed," he confirmed, nodding surreptitiously at Hermione.

"Hey, would a werewolf hide in the fireplace?" the mistress of the house asked indignantly when she saw one of the wizards get into the fireplace and fumble in it.

"We suppose that he could have gotten in through here," Cormack rushed to explain.

"He couldn't have. This fireplace is break-in-proof," Hermione shrugged her shoulders and sat up straight; however, one could tell that she was concerned about the integrity of her home at the hands of these meticulous wizards. "By the way, how did you get in here?"

"Mrs. Weasley, almost all security of this dwelling was set up by the Ministry," Mr. Cormack reminded her, clearly pleased with himself.

"I know!" Hermione chortled and glanced sideways at Harry. "I meant, who did you get into the house if I didn't hear a doorbell ring! Or did you, as is your strange custom, bust in without even ringing?"

Cormack was not easily discomfited.

"We feared to be too late," he answered promptly. "We are just doing our job."

"As far as I know, your job is to protect the Minister and do his bidding. Or are the searches of private residences now in the Minister's jurisdiction as well?"

Harry nudged Hermione to get her to contain her frustration at the Ministry. Although Ron was now safe, there was no need to stir a controversy. His friend seemed to have gotten his hint, for she fell silent and did not say another word until all wizards were back in the living room, signaling that they didn't find anyone.

"Perhaps, he entered a different house," Cormack remarked, "As far as we know, you, Mr. Potter, own a cottage nearby and a house in London…"

"Don't even think about it," Harry strove to forestall any future requests. "First, if someone did break in there, he would either starve to death while waiting for someone to come along or leave of his own accord. I haven't been there for a long time and don't plan to go there any time soon. Second, both houses are under security; which is not under the Ministry's control. They cannot be found unless I wish it. So, thank you for your concern, but – no."

Cormack might have wanted to say something else, but he decided against it.

"I apologize for bothering you. I shall leave one of my men outside the house. Just in case."

"Great, thanks so much," Harry shrugged his shoulders, watching the six uninvited guests leave the house. "And don't forget to put the shield you smashed back up!"

The door closed. Hermione exhaled and sank onto the couch, laughing nervously, while Harry walked over to the fireplace and began examining its top laying with his wand.

"Are you thinking what I am thinking?" Hermione calmed down and turned toward her friend.

"Well, they are not complete idiots, after all," Harry finally walked out of the fireplace. "They put the Tracing spell on it. Remember, like Umbridge did on all fireplaces during our fifth year at Hogwarts?"

Hermione nodded.

"It seems that our life is beginning to look like that year, only the adult version," she lamented, getting up. "I shall go dress. We are going to Ron, aren't we?"

Harry nodded, following her with his eyes. He put on his cloak and smoothed his hair. For some reason, he always did that, even though he knew it to be fruitless. It just happened automatically.

"I am ready," Hermione came in, fastening her cloak. Harry was already waiting for her at the fireplace. "Through the Diagon Alley?"

Harry nodded with a smile, glad that she easily guessed his thoughts, like she always did. Let the Ministry trace all their fireplaces, if it wished to; and guard all doors.

"Hang on, there is one more thing. Dong!"

The elf appeared in the middle of the living room, looking rather comical: in an old apron, with a dirty rag in one hand and cleaning spray in the other.

"What is this?" Harry pointed at the elf's ammunition, although he already knew: no one had been to the house at Grimmauld place for twenty years. "It's ok, you don't have to answer that. Is everything in order?"

"No! There is no order! There is a complete disorder there, Sir Harry Potter!" the house-elf exclaimed indignantly. "Don't go there yet. I shall clean everything up. The atmosphere there is altogether unhealthy…"

"It's ok, we'll endure it," Harry interrupted, grinning. "I would rather you went back there and brought me the Invisibility cloak. Quickly."

Dong nodded. He returned in a couple of minutes and handed Harry the silvery cloak.

"That is it, Dong, you may now return to Scorpius," Harry looked gratefully at the elf. "Thank you for everything. I would give you a pair of socks… but, I think that you probably don't like clothes."

"Dong was glad to serve Sir Harry Potter. Maybe Dong should stay to clean Sir Harry Potter's house?"

"No. This is all. You are free to go," Harry said firmly and, once Dong disappeared, stepped toward the fireplace. "Hermione, we shall Disapparate from the Diagon Alley; under the cloak, right onto the doorstep, like we did before, remember?"

Hermione nodded. They didn't have any problems flying through the Floo network; then they walked out onto the Diagon Alley, already crowded with wizards, and turned into a side street, where Harry threw the cloak over them both. He had to hold Hermione tightly to him – the two of them could barely hide under his father's cloak, while back in their first year at Hogwarts, all three of them easily disappeared under it. Hermione must have thought about it also, for she smiled.

Harry spun in place, concentrating, and drawing his friend with him into the airless darkness. They didn't miss: before them was the long-forgotten door with flaked paint and a knocker in the shape of a coiled snake.

Harry opened the door by touching his wand to it, and the two of them entered the dark foyer. As he was closing the door, Harry noted, with a trained eye of a professional, a familiar figure of the wizard who had recently visited Hermione's house, hanging around the square. Well, Harry silently wished him to have a merry ol' time.

Hermione had already taken the cloak off the two of them and lit her wand. They had not been here for many years, but they could vividly imagine the ghost of Albus Dumbledore rising from the rug before them. Moody's spells must have dissolved with time.

They were adults, yet they felt like seventeen-year-old teenagers who were once hiding here from the Death-Eaters. For a brief moment, it appeared as though nothing had changed. Voldemort was long gone and they were once again using the Blacks' family home as a refuge.

Harry was right after all: the ghost of his Sirius would always live here, for even despite the first gray appearing in his hair, Harry missed his godfather, who had once been trapped in this dark house. It was as though the footsteps and the barking laugh of Sirius Black still sounded amidst these walls, as they did in the lonely and broken heart of The Boy Who Lived.

Harry shook his head and followed Hermione, as she started down the steps into the kitchen in the basement. Soft light emanated from there.

Apparently, Dong had time to clean this room. The floor and all the surfaces they passed on the way here were covered with a thick layer of dust, while the kitchen sparkled. It felt as though he and Hermione had just returned from their watch at the Ministry and the old Kreacher dressed in a white towel was about to run to them to take their clothes and serve their dinner.

Lupin was sitting at the table and stood up when they entered. A book lay on the table in front of him, and he held an old photograph in his hands. Harry paid little heed to it:

"Where is Ron?"

"I left him on the bed in one of the rooms. I didn't know if it was safe to revive him," Teddy looked confused and a little sad.

Hermione turned on her heel and ran up the stairs; her footsteps managed to awaken the honorable mother of Sirius Black. Great! The Blacks have all been dead for years, and she was still fulminating her anathemas. Something needed to be done to the sweet old lady before she drove them all to insanity.

"Who is that? When we came, she screamed as if we had desecrated her grave," Lupin nodded toward the doorway where the awakened portrait was spouting non-too-flattering epithets.

"This is the portrait of Sirius Black's mother. She was always this pleasant. And, I believe, in the last twenty years she got unused to company," Harry smiled bitterly and went to go find Hermione, when the picture that Lupin had been looking at before they arrived caught his eye. "Where did you get this?"

"I found this book in one of the rooms and wanted to read it; the picture was tucked in it," Teddy looked sadly at the moving figures on the picture.

Harry took the photograph. The book must have once belonged to Sirius, because the four Marauders and a red-haired girl were now looking at his godson. Of course, the picture was old and faded, but Harry knew that the girl's hair had to be red.

Harry couldn't look at these happy faces from a distant past a moment longer; he handed the picture back to Lupin and went to pacify the still-screaming Mrs. Black. He easily closed the curtains, inwardly wishing Sirius' mother sweet dreams for another twenty years, and began ascending the rickety stairs.

He found Hermione and Ron in the bedroom where Harry and his friend used to stay in the days of the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione had already brought her husband to his senses, apparently, considering it safe. Harry supposed that Ron's connection to the man who had cast the Imperious curse broke the moment Lupin Stunned him. Hermione, in all likelihood, supposed the same.

Harry Potter stood in the doorway and watched Hermione kissing her husband, hungrily and somewhat desperately, stroking his back, shoulders, and arms. It was as though she wanted to ascertain that it was really him, alive and well. They were kissing and hugging as if they hadn't seen one another for a year and might never lay eyes on each other again. The latter could have been quite likely, had they not evacuated Ron in time.

Harry noiselessly stepped back and closed the door, feeling his heart freezing over with loneliness. Out of his personal hell, he glimpsed someone else's happiness, before sinking back, alone and anguished, never to be happy again; hell, where all-encompassing love was now replaced by emptiness; and pain.


	44. Part V - Chapter 4 - Theodic

Chapter 4. Theodic.

_Dedicated to the memory of the bravest and the loneliest, the strongest and the most loyal, to the memory of a man and a wizard…_

He was summoned to the Chief Healer. For some reason, he was not surprised. He was ready for it. He was always ready for the sharp turns in his life. Always.

Theo took off his robe and hung it in his locker. He didn't lock it. What for?

The administrative wing was empty. Everyone was busy working.

He taped on the door ones with his knuckles. He entered. _What__a__terrible__office__. __The man has no taste._ Although he was good at what he did. One could live without good taste.

"Have a seat, Mr. Mancilli."

_Mister__. __Not__Healer__._ He was right again then.

The Chief Healer's bald crown was shining in the light. The portly old man buried his face in a folder. Theo even knew what it was. His dossier.

He needed no Legilimency. He knew everything as it was; all the facts stated in that folder.

Twenty two years old; a bachelor. Mother – Italian; a witch. Father – no information. Graduated from a School for Healers in Greece; with honors. Taught there for three years. Simultaneously did his residency at the Healers Academy. Excellent recommendations. The area of expertise – Legilimency and Occlumency. Permission to enter and reside in England. The job application. Six fully healed patients in six months.

This was Theodic Mancilli's entire life; at least, for the purposes of his dossier. The rest was nobody's business.

"Mr. Mancilli, you know that a patient disappeared today from a guarded room," the Chief Healer put away the folder. Theo did not respond. He simply waited for the man to continue; even though he knew the rest; and again, with no Legilimency. "You were the only person on that floor a few minutes before the patient was abducted."

He didn't know that. _So, the two Aurors were just for show? Like Gothic-style columns; tasteless__gothic__style__._

Again, Theo did not bother to respond. _The old man must be ill at ease; fidgeting__._

Theo looked at his watch. He had three minutes left. No need to hurry.

"Fortunately for all of us, the Ministry cannot prove your culpability. It wouldn't do at all for one of our employees to be accused of being party to abduction."

_Yeah, right. Talk about people living in glass houses..._

Theo did not answer again. He was enjoying this conversation. The Chief Healer's eyes were shifty. _He is nervous; trying to close off his mind, for some reason; bungling it, too._

"However, we cannot risk our reputation any longer. Especially, considering that we are fully funded by the Ministry. I am sure, you understand," an ingratiating look at Theo.

_So many unnecessary words and gestures; and barely getting to the point. Another minute and a half left._

"We have to let you go."

_Finally__. __And__it__is__not__even__snowing__yet__. __And there is still time to decorate the Christmas tree._

Theo merely nodded. Just to show that he heard that.

"Don't take it personally; you are a wonderful, even a remarkable Healer," the old man prattled on. _The guilt trip. Done with the hard part and feeling better now. Poor devil._ "We will give you a good reference, which will allow you to work in small Healing clinics around the country. The Ministry insisted that you be denied references, but we don't operate like that. We give credit where credit is due."

Theo got to his feet. The Chief Healer even started a little.

"Where do I sign? I have to go."

"W…what?"

"The signature," Theo repeated forcefully. "On the ticket of discharge."

"Oh, yes…," _scurrying, rummaging through the papers, clearly relieved. With good reason – everything has gone so well. Hands are shaking though._

Theo took the quill out of the inkwell; signed his name; without reading; nodded and left.

He came to the café exactly on time; sat across from Smethwick. _The__day__for__talking__. __Five__minutes__; __and then on to Potter._ The owl had been dispatched.

"I know that the Ministry put pressure on our management," the Healer whispered, leaning forward. "We won't be able to do anything. But, Theo, you have got a talent. I don't want you to waste it."

_Thanks for caring. Quite__moved__._ Theo did not say anything. Why deny the obvious?

Smethwick took out a scroll. _This is getting interesting._

"This letter," the Healer handed him the parchment. "I think that you will like this job. You are familiar with it, as far as I remember from reading your file. Unfortunately, this is the only thing that I am able to do for you…"

He definitely liked Smethwick. The man fit everything in a little over a minute.

Theo took the letter.

"Thank you."

And he left the café. He opened the letter as he walked; looked through it. _Well, this is worth thinking about._

Theo came out into the street. He wrapped his robes around him and Apparated to the Diagon Alley. Through the fireplace, he made his way to the now familiar living room. It showed good taste.

Potter was already waiting for him. _Great._

"Good afternoon," Theo stepped away from the fireplace. He casually brushed the ashes off his robes with his wand.

Harry Potter rose from his chair. A Pensieve was sitting on the table in front of him.

"Hello. First, I would like to thank you," the people's hero looked tired.

"You thought you were prohibited from Apparating," Theo stepped toward the table. Potter was taken aback; too abrupt. _Fine__._ "I have done my part."

"Yes, I know," Harry Potter sat back down in the chair. He motioned for Theo to sit. Theo obeyed. They had a long talk ahead of them; the talk that Theo dreamed about since childhood; his only dream; a dream of a lifetime. "I thought that the easiest way would be to repeat the same procedure."

Theo looked at the Pensieve; it was empty. But next to it stood a little vial; with silver lapping inside it…

"Your memories of my father."

"No, not mine," Potter said to his surprise. "These are Severus Snape's memories."

Theo waited silently.

"Do you remember what you saw in my mind when you were treating me? You know, about your father dying?"

Theo nodded. That's what it was then; memories mixed with blood.

"He imparted on me a portion of his memory; he needed to. I kept it. Now, I believe, I can pass it on to you."

Theo did not nod. He simply glanced at Potter.

"Only one question: do you know who Voldemort was?"

Theo bowed his head slowly. He was looking at the Pensieve.

"Then you will understand. In these memories is the whole truth about Severus Snape. Just give me back the Pensieve afterward, all right?"

"Without fail."

Harry Potter took the vial from the table and held it out carefully to the Healer. Theo's hand did not shake; it grasped. He held the dream of his entire life in the palm of his hand.

"If you have any questions, I am willing to answer them," the people's hero added. Theo had already sent the Pensieve to his flat; in one smooth motion; the way he had been taught.

"Till next time," Theo turned and stepped into the fireplace. Not "farewell", but "till next time". Theo knew: it would come.

Diagon Alley. Crowds. Bustle. Nasty place. But he lived there. In a rented flat above the pub. Not exactly the lap of luxury.

Theo summoned the Pensieve. Put it on the table. Carefully uncorked the vial; poured it out. Now his hands were trembling; and his heart pounded. He took off his robes. And only then did he dive into the silver of the past; his father's past.

Hapless boy Severus Snape. Theo was not like his father as a child. A different childhood. A different facial expression. Different clothes. Different relationships with people. But his father had a friend; a red-haired, green-eyed girl. Theo did not have a childhood friend. His father had Lily Evans. Theo only had himself.

But there was a train in his life also; and a compartment. Like in his father's life. But everything was different there. Insecure student Severus Snape. He was taunted. Theo was also taunted. But he responded; in force; by penetrating deep into that boy's mind and bringing up the most terrifying memory. That was all. Not a verbal response; a show of force; because he had no green-eyed girl. He only ever had himself.

Severus Snape, a young man in love. He suffered. He pined. He was jealous. It was difficult for Theo to understand. Yet, he understood something else. Lily Evans; James Potter; Harry Potter; and four boys. Their strength against his father's. Her indignation against his father's. Humiliation.

Severus Snape, hating, despising. Theo has never seen such hatred. It was palpable even in the memories.

And then – Severus Snape, begging; at the brink of a breakdown; alone. Theo had also been lonely; but he never lost anyone. His father had lost his green-eyed girl. First by giving her to another; to his enemy. Then – by allowing her to be killed.

_So, Harry Potter._ He, whom Severus Snape protected; protected and hated at the same time. His father was a dark wizard. Theo didn't understand that. He was a Healer. He returned people to life. His father was a Death Eater. The dark mark on his arm; like the brand of evil.

The old wizard from Harry Potter's memory. He must have been very close to the people's hero. Still, Theo's father trusted Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts; the school where Theo should have gone. His father wanted that. But Theo didn't. The Headmaster killed by his father; at Dumbledore's bidding. Killed, in order to save another boy.

Severus Snape, weeping. Weeping over the green-eyed girl's picture; and over her letter.

Shock. Because Harry Potter must have also seen it; and went into the jaws of death in order to triumph. Shock. Because that was a betrayal; a carefully calculated betrayal. And his father took part in it; even if with a slight, momentary shade of doubt. Yet, he brought the Headmaster's mission to completion. He brought the Boy Who Lived to the very edge of death; brought, and left him there alone.

Father.

Theo returned to his room. His forehead was beaded with sweat; his eyes – full of tears. A child's tears; the tears that the boy he used to be never cried.

He was mourning the man who was his father; un-bemoaned by anyone, ever.

A great man. A lonely man. A cruel man.

_Father._


	45. Part V - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

_**Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.**_

How did he deserve all this? He always behaved himself and even wiped his feet before entering the living room. So, what had he done to deserve this?!

McGonagall lectured them along the lines of "How could you?!" and "What in the world came over you?!" for what seemed like a quarter of an hour. One could only envy her vehemence. Even Scorpius' father could not yell at him for this long; purse his lips as tellingly; make his eyes flame with such indignation; and pause so significantly after the punch lines. _I wonder if Potter was able to properly appreciate all that?_

Scorpius peered sidelong at the Gryffindor who sat at the adjacent desk, his head hung in contrition. _That's right; let your conscience and your guilt have a good chew party with your suspicious pitiful soul._

Finally, McGonagall seemed to have run out of steam. They must not have expressed enough regret, because the second part of her declamation might not be as long and passionate, but was no less impressive. She outlined the grand plan of two-weeks-long correctional activities, which included not only her favorite, calligraphy, but also the pleasant pastime with bedpans, exciting hours amidst the Walrus' phials and retorts, the wonderful company of magic scotch tape and Pince's books, and a good dozen of other small, but extremely contributive chores.

_Yes, the Hogwarts house elves must all be on vacation._ And there they were: he and Potter. Someone had to come to the rescue. And who was better suited for it if not the son of the great family of heroes and saviors? What Malfoy couldn't understand was where did he fit into this picture? _Cheerleading?_

Despite all that, the Slytherin was in a wonderful mood, minus the piercing ache in his ribs. He felt serene, too. Firstly, if Potter had truly wanted to kill him, he would have done it by now. Ergo, his brain must have kicked into gear. And secondly, inside him nestled the tender warmth bestowed upon him by Lily Potter.

To simply spend an hour with her was the best experience he had ever had with a girl. Not a single kiss; just a brief embrace. This is what it must feel like to be in heaven. You walk in – and instantly realise that you don't need anything else. And your soul purrs happily somewhere deep inside you. This feeling was worth a thousand duels; but not with James Potter.

When McGonagall left the room, having slammed down a thousand-page-long ancient folio in front of Malfoy, Scorpius lazily picked up his quill, slid a scroll of parchment in front of him, and opened the book.

It seemed to have been written by Slytherin's great-grandfather together with Gryffindor's great-grandmother – and they must have been helping themselves with a bottle of good Firewhiskey. Scorpius had never seen even Filch's tilted lines jump around like that – and Filch probably couldn't write to begin with.

The Slytherin hadn't even glanced at the book handed to the perpetrator of this whole nightmare. Potter, of course. _Detective, thestral spit on him! Even Trelawney would have envied his brilliant conclusions, with her goblin's-butt-shaped tea leaves, and jump-in-and-out-of-your-house Saturn._

Malfoy penned only a few letters. He didn't like working in silence. He generally didn't trust the silence, especially around Potter. _If one doesn't distract him with a conversation, he will get the next great idea into his shaggy head, like the one in the morning._

"Hey, Potter," he drawled out to his friend.

James didn't reply, pretending to be engrossed in his book.

"Potter, are you deaf? Could you, by chance, impart to me what came over you this morning?"

"Malfoy…" James said with a slight threat in his voice, without turning around.

"Potter, are you, in general, on good terms with your own brain? You have tripped your sister up in your righteous indignation like few people could have."

"Malfoy."

"No, seriously! Of all the dumb things that you have done in your life, this one really takes the cake. You should get a medal – for 'the year's best sleuth'."

"Malfoy!" James finally looked up, tossed aside his quill, and stared at his classmate.

"I am flattered, of course, that your active vocabulary includes my surname, but could you add anything to it?" Scorpius inquired with a pretty smile, twirling his quill.

"Shut up," the Gryffindore said through clenched teeth, turning away.

"Oh, two words – that's an improvement," Malfoy continued to amuse himself. As long as they were bound for two weeks of McGonagall slavery, someone had to pay. "By the way, I am ready."

"Ready for what?" James growled, without looking up from the parchment in front of him.

"For your apology for a ruined morning."

The Gryffindor bristled at once, glaring at Malfoy:

"Not before _you_ apologize."

"For what? Enlighten me," Malfoy put aside his quill and turned sideways to James.

"For chasing after my sister behind my back," the Gryffindor also stopped writing. "Were you afraid to admit it?"

"Potter, how do you get these brilliant thoughts into your little head? I didn't chase after her!" Scorpius protested indignantly. _Lies!_

"Yeah, right… You just kissed her once or twice…"

"And you were counting, huh?" the Slytherin grinned, trying to remember himself how many times he had kissed Lily Potter. Well, first he had to decide whether a five-minute kiss qualified as a single kiss or it needed to be counted as several in a row. Should he count the times when he kissed her and she didn't respond? _Yes, it is complicated. If judging by the quality, however…_

"Why didn't you tell me that you liked her?" James broke into Scorpius' reverie.

"Hmmm, let me think," Scorpius pressed his finger to his lips and raised his eyes to the ceiling, "could it be because you threatened that anyone who got close to her would lose his toes and ears? I think that this is a good cause for discretion… Besides, until the Christmas Ball, I wasn't planning to give my feelings for anyone very much thought. You were so insistent this morning, however, that I had to alter my plans a bit…"

"Yeah, just go ahead and blame it on me!"

"And who _is_ to blame, if not you? Who behaved as though he'd been bitten in the arse by a rabid hippogriff?"

"You yourself believed that she had been with Gregory, didn't you?" James exploded. _Must be trying to sooth his conscience. How like Potter – to leave someone holding the bag._ "You were the one pouncing on him like a goblin on a counterfeit galleon!"

"Don't compare me to a goblin," Malfoy snorted, smoothing his hair. "Unlike some people of Gryffindor persuasion, I was not yelling for the entire street to hear me! I politely asked Gregory to stay away from her."

"I never thought that you could be jealous," James grinned suddenly. "Merlin, Malfoy, you were jealous of him!"

"Shut up," Scorpius snarled.

"Yes, you were! Gregory!" the Gryffindor sneered, looking at his friend.

"Potter, either you shut up, or I can't vouch for myself…" the Slytherin growled, taking out his wand.

"Oh, I am frightened already," James snorted, taking out his. "You didn't look like an evil spell master to me this morning."

Malfoy got to his feet and angrily pointed his wand at the Gryffindor:

"I simply didn't want to throw your bloody scalp at your sister's feet."

James also rose, still grinning:

"Or maybe you couldn't remember anything stronger than 'Lumos'?"

"Or maybe you should shut up before I turn you into an ass?"

"Why into an ass?" James sounded offended.

"Because you have one quality in common with that animal," Malfoy also grinned.

"All right, you ferret and a son of a ferret, you wanted it – you got it," James waved his wand; and stood there, admiring the sight.

Malfoy's lips twitched as he raised his hand and felt the top of his head.

"I hope that you at least changed the colour," he said, also waving his wand; now it was his turn to try not to laugh out loud. "No, you are not an ass. You are a drunken hedgehog at the top of a fir."

Every hair on James' head stretched out, forming a halo around his head. He looked like a black dandelion.

"You have ruined my hairdo!" the Gryffindor cried indignantly, shooting the next spell at his friend. Malfoy's tie turned into a pink bow-tie to match the pink ribbon in his silver hair, only with green polka dots. Scorpius couldn't get a good look at it, but he expressed his appreciation of James' creativity by turning _his_ tie into a woman's silk scarf with a heart-shaped brooch.

The Gryffindor could not leave that unanswered – Scorpius' robes became white with black spots, like a classic cow hide. After momentary contemplation, James added a tail in the back, for good measure. Malfoy snorted – and James' robes clung tightly to his body, sporting yellow horizontal stripes.

By the time the classroom door opened, Scorpius was wearing cute slippers with eyes and ears instead of his boots, and James realised with horror that his favorite shoes had turned into awkward contraptions, seemingly weaved with strips of tree bark.

The chaps turned their heads toward the doorway, where Lily Potter stood frozen to the spot. Scorpius watched the quick change of expressions on the Gryffindor's face.

"Who do you think she ran here to protect and defend?" Scorpius asked James out of the corner of his mouth. The other merely shrugged. "All right, then the one she addresses first is the one she cares less about."

Malfoy could imagine what they looked like to an unprepared spectator, and quite understood why Lily chortled and said, suppressing Homeric laughter:

"You both are such idiots…," after which she turned and ran away, doubling with laughter.

"So, who do you think she cares about less?" the Gryffindor turned toward Scorpius. Then he also burst out laughing. Malfoy followed suit a second later. The window panes shuddered a little.

When the laughter abated – which took a while because every time they calmed down and looked up, laughter gripped them anew – James looked narrow-eyed at the Slytherin who was trying to remove the ribbon from his hair:

"Mark my words, Malfoy: if you hurt her, if she suffers because of you…"

"I know, I know," Scorpius waved his hand dismissively at his friend, "you will tear off my toes, scalp me, crucify me on the Hogwarts front door…"

"No," James shook his head gravely. "I shall not only never say another word to you again; I shall not so much as spare a glance in your direction."

"You won't have to," Malfoy said, just as seriously, "because if that happened, I would never be able to look you in the eye."

James merely nodded, holding out his hand.

"Peace?"

"As if," the Slytherin grinned. "I do not shake hands with strange creatures in women's fashion scarves, dressed up as bees, and without a clue what a comb is. Do your hair first, you, freak of nature."

Malfoy saw a wand flashing through the air and laughed. The world was returning to normal.


	46. Part V - Chapter 6 - Hermione Weasley

**_Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley._**

She woke up in a strange house, in a strange bed, too narrow for two, breathing in strange, slightly stale, air. Even the twilight behind closed curtains seemed somehow alien. Yet, the arms holding her were familiar and the deep breathing she felt on the back of her head was also familiar; hers; beloved.

Hermione carefully extricated herself from Ron's embrace, slid from under the blanket, and shuddered. The room was freezing cold. She gathered up her clothes, dressed hurriedly, and, trying not to disturb her husband, walked out into the hallway.

Once in the kitchen, Hermione washed her face, got her hair into a semblance of order, and got the fireplace started, in the hopes of getting warm.

She and Ron were alone in this big, gloomy house. Harry left last night. Despite her happiness at her husband being back at her side and no longer in danger of being ensnared by the Ministry, Hermione noticed that Harry looked depressed as he was leaving, try as he might to look content. His eyes gave him away; they always had.

Hermione inwardly thanked Lupin for having brought groceries and other necessities. She cooked breakfast, adding a generous amount of bacon to the menu, and carried it upstairs.

Ron felt weak and she forbade him to come downstairs. She always did that when Ron got sick. He would immediately turn into an sad little boy, ready to cry "I am dying!" even from a mere case of sniffles. And what he had now was not a just sniffles. The full moon was approaching; his first full moon.

Yesterday, Hermione gave him the Wolfsbane potion she had made. She had a little stash of it, which would need to be replenished regularly now. It didn't matter though – what mattered was that Ron was here, safe.

She entered the bedroom and set the tray on the bedside table. Her husband was asleep, curled up against the cold; he must have gotten chilly after she left. Hermione sat down on the side of the bed, leaned over him, and blew lightly in his ear. Ron stirred, muttering something indistinct. She blew harder. Ron jumped and she almost fell off the bed, only just grabbing onto the bedpost in the shape of a poised cobra.

"What's wrong?" she asked Ron in a voice, hoarse with sudden fright, as she watched a strange expression flit across his pale face. He merely shook his head, relaxing.

"Sorry," he pushed his pillows up and sat, leaning against them, pulling his blanket up to his waist.

Hermione handed him a sweater – on of the things brought over by Lupin.

"Put this on; it is cold."

"Really? Seems alright to me," he took the sweater, but didn't put it on. He sniffed the air and smiled at the sight of food. "Breakfast in bed?"

She nodded, setting the tray in his lap; then she watched him eat. His arms and chest were covered with terrible scars, left by the teeth and claws of his attackers, but Hermione already loved even these scars. She knew that they were still hurting, although Ron didn't show it; and neither did Harry.

"'ere's 'arry?" her husband asked, as if reading her thoughts. Hermione smiled at the familiar picture – Ron, trying to talk with his mouth full.

"He left last night. You know, he doesn't like this house. Besides, it will be suspicious if the Ministry folks show up and see our house empty. He also said something about spending time with Albus."

Ron nodded, devouring the toast. Thank Merlin, at least his condition did not affect his appetite. Hermione waited for her husband to finish eating before she started with the pressing questions.

They didn't talk yesterday. At first, he was weakened by the spells cast upon him in the hospital, plus Lupin had to Stun him; plus, Apparating did not do his barely healed body any good. He slept almost all day; Hermione had given him the Strength-Restoring potion. Then, later at night after Ron had rested, they barely talked at all, busy pouring all their love onto one another.

At first, Hermione wanted to hold back, afraid to hurt her husband, but as soon as Ron would feel that she wanted to say something, he began kissing her fiercely. That night, he was not as tender and gentle as Hermione had gotten used to him being over the years. She didn't care though. There was only one thought in her head: _He is here, he is alive_.

When the plates were empty and Ron, satiated, leaned back against the pillows, Hermione took away his tray and moved closer.

"Now tell me, why they put you under Imperius?"

Her husband looked away, which was not a good sign:

"They were afraid," he said, crumpling the sheet in his fist.

"Of what?" she persisted.

"Some Ministry bloke came and started telling me how rich and happy I would become, should I cooperate with the Ministry."

"Did he say what kind of cooperation?"

Ron shook his head, still hiding his eyes.

"He didn't have time. I lost control."

"You transformed?" Hermione's hand flew to her mouth.

"Nearly. That git was telling me what it was like to live in poverty; to have one's business shut down; to have one's wife fired from her job…"

Hermione closed her eyes, refusing to accept all this. It was blackmail; pure, unadulterated blackmail.

"You became angry and started to transform, didn't you?" she whispered, taking his warm hand. The room was cold, but he, bare-chested, didn't even seem to notice.

"Yes. That boy, Fred, he was like that too, at first. The Healer said that it was only temporary, that Fred later learned to control it," Ron looked anywhere but at his wife. "Anyway, they Stunned me and when I came to, I was under the Imperius curse. I tried to fight it, but I am no Harry Potter," he smiled bitterly.

"That was why you became so weak: fighting against someone controlling you in your condition – it would exhaust anybody," Hermione moved closer still and held his head in her palms to keep him from looking away: "Ron, I cannot promise you that everything will stay the same. It won't. But I don't care if you are a werewolf or a vampire! I love you and I shall stay with you. We shall get through this."

He nodded, pressing her to him:

"It's simply a small matter of not causing me to lose my temper then," he muttered into her shoulder. "Have you brought the potion?"

Hermione pulled away from him and took the goblet from the tray. She watched him down the not-so-tasty potion in one gulp, and her heart tightened in compassion. _How scared he must be of himself, yet trying not to show it._

There was a knock at the door. When Hermione gave permission to enter, the concerned Harry stepped into the room.

"Hey, mate, how are you?" he shook Ron's hand and attempted to smile at his friend.

"Better, but feeling a bit odd," Ron grinned. "And yourself?"

Harry merely shrugged his shoulders and turned to Hermione:

"You got summons from the Ministry. An interrogation, I think, under the guise of a light chat about the recent events in our family."

The three of them exchanged glances. It was as if the school days were back. They got into yet another pickle and were trying to decide how to get out of it. Hermione would have smiled at the thought, had it not been for the gravity of the situation.

"Do you think they would go so far as to give me Veritaserum?" she asked Harry, squeezing her husband's hand.

"I dunno. They haven't got proof that you know anything," Harry pulled up a chair and straddled it, propping his arms on the back. "After all, you are no mere wife of a patient who had disappeared; you hold a high post at the Ministry. I don't think they'd dare. You be on your guard, anyway, yeah?"

"Did they call you in?" Hermione absent-mindedly picked up a piece of toast from the plate.

"I went there in the morning – just dropped by to see if there were any news. Kingsley said that they hadn't officially opened a case on Ron."

"This is encouraging. It means that they are afraid of publicity," she smiled, playing with her husband's warm fingers. "Do you think it will take them long to leave him alone?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. Ron started:

"How long will I have to stay locked up in here?!"

"Ron, this is for your own good," his wife said reproachfully, turning toward him.

"You know, this reminds me of something," Harry said sadly, his green eyes downcast. His friends were silent: words were not necessary; they knew what he meant. "Ron, just hang in there. You are not a criminal; you are not wanted by the entire wizarding world. You just need to wait it out until after the full moon. After that, the situation will clarify itself, one way or another."

Ron pursed his lips, but did not respond. Harry looked at him sympathetically, and stood up:

"I have to go; I promised Al to pick him up at Mr. Weasley's. Hermione, come see me off and lock the door behind me; just in case."

She stood up right away and followed Harry, knowing that he wanted to speak to her out of Ron's earshot; because he didn't really need her to lock the door behind him.

"What?" she whispered when they were in the foyer.

"Kingsley said that the Muggle disappearances stopped, but around ten people were found dead in the West; all – with bite marks, more or less recent. And two wizards were reported missing," Harry told her in a very quiet voice. "Do you understand what that means?"

"It means that they have begun creating their army, doesn't it? They've understood that Muggles won't do." Hermione gripped Harry's hand. "But, Harry, this means that they may be among us already!"

"They _are_ among us already. You call one of them your husband," Harry smiled tenderly, apparently trying to show his support and keep her from panicking. "This news came only last night, and all the Ministry employees are being checked for bite marks and other injuries of unknown origins as we speak. The Minister is quite scared that werewolves would catch him and have him for dinner."

"Harry, be more careful," Hermione whispered, looking into his green eyes. "I am sure that they have not abandoned the idea of getting to you. And now it will be much easier for them. If the bitten wizards decide to join them, they will become even more dangerous because they will have wands!"

"Hermione, I understand this," Harry smiled sadly, taking her hand. "I shall be careful. However, what I am more concerned about is for any more of my loved ones not getting hurt. Therefore, I beg you – sit tight and don't leave the house without necessity. I spoke to Kingsley – he will not be summoning you to the Ministry. Stay here with Ron for a time. You are safe here. And Ron won't feel as lonely."

"And what about you?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"I'll get back to work; because, otherwise, I shall go mad," Harry confessed, letting his arms fall at his sides and lowering his gaze. "I have to be doing something in order not to think."

"Harry," Hermione breathed, embracing him and stroking his hair. "Harry, you are not alone, you hear? We are with you; we shall always be with you. You will survive this, I know you will."

Harry nodded, pulling back and removing her hands from his shoulders.

"Ron needs you. And be vigilant. Don't forget about the potion."

She nodded, watching Harry put on the Invisibility cloak and walk out onto the front porch, swathed in grey October gloom. The door lock gave a muffled click, and Hermione made her way upstairs, aware that they, every one of them, were trapped. They were between the rock and a hard place. She didn't even know what she was afraid of more: the unbridled power of the Ministry, or the deliberate vengefulness of the werewolves. _Well, at least the children are at school. No reason to worry so much about them._ More than any other place, she had come to trust her alma mater, whose walls had stood for so many centuries and survived so many battles.


	47. Part V - Chapter 7 - Teddy Remus Lupin

_**Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin.**_

He was plodding down the street, trying to avoid puddles on the sidewalk. October had arrived, bringing with it rain, fog, and piercing cold. Even warm cloaks couldn't ward off the chill.

Despite that, the Diagon Alley was crowded, as usual. Teddy spotted the Aurors, lurking in the side streets and alleys. _Why haven's the Ministry informed everyone of the danger?_ Even if the Aurors guarded every house, the werewolves still had the element of surprise on their side; because ordinary wizards would not expect to be suddenly attacked by a werewolf; at any place; at any time.

Teddy wrapped his cloak tighter around him and turned toward the Leaky Cauldron. After what happened to Ginny, Lupin could no longer bring himself to eat at the Eloise's and he now frequented Tom's establishment.

He was not particularly hungry, because that morning Grandmother Andromeda, muttering that Ted had lost weight "due to constant stress", fed him breakfast big enough to have a herd of thestrals stuffed. His grandmother also grumbled that Marie was not taking good care of her beloved grandson, but Teddy merely grinned. He knew that his grandmother really loved Marie-Victoire.

Teddy ordered mint tea and a couple of sandwiches, picked a table in a dark corner so as not to attract attention of the numerous patrons, and began eating, watching the wizards and other rather strange creatures who entered the pub.

Lately, Lupin had become ever more vigilant. He suspected that werewolves would launch another attack on Harry Potter in the near future. However, his godfather was well-protected for the moment, and his children – out of reach. Therefore, the enemies would find another victim; and for some reason Teddy had a nagging suspicion that this victim would be him. On the other hand, the young man supposed that he would be targeted as a hostage rather than a victim; because unless werewolves lured Harry Potter out of his haven, they would never be able to get to him.

Lupin has counted six familiar faces so far; he had good memory for faces, which he couldn't say about names. Three of them he had met on Diagon Alley. One witch was the girlfriend of his coworker. And the other two he had simply seen around: a young wizard with a slightly naïve smile; and a pale-faced wizard with a thick beard and sunken cheeks.

Lupin lost his appetite altogether. He stood up, fastened his cloak, and hurriedly left the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't bother glancing back, knowing intuitively that no one was following him. He relaxed and calmed down a little. _Panicking is not a good idea._

Teddy Apparated from the alley straight to the St. Mungo's Hospital. The wizarding printing-house was located two houses down the street, next to the "Daily Prophet". Lupin stepped away from the wall where he had just appeared out of nowhere, and walked down the sidewalk, merging with the stream of Muggles.

That was when animal instinct that he always attributed to heredity suddenly told him that someone was following him, staring at his back. Teddy didn't look around and didn't hasten his steps; he had nothing to fear. Lupin knew that the Aurors guarding the hospital and the printing-house were nearby. No one would dare to attack him here.

Teddy calmly reached the entrance to the printing-house – a mere blind brick wall, through which he walked easily, having ascertained that the Muggles paid no attention to him.

Lupin went up the stairs to his office on the second floor. His coworkers were also returning from lunch, waving at Teddy and chatting amongst themselves. The corridors bore the usual smells of printing ink and newspaper pages.

Lupin sat down at his desk, where the newspaper imprints were prepared for proof-reading, and became absorbed in the first page he picked up.

Teddy loved his job; he liked to be the first to know all the news. He enjoyed even the silly articles from provincial newspapers about the habits of gnomes, about the ten ways to masquerade as a Muggle, about using magic in gardening. Many of them were very good for a laugh.

Teddy summoned the cup with cold coffee without taking his eyes off the first page of the new issue of "The Prophet". The Minister was talking through his hat about the international cooperation needing to be strictly organized and bear "the imprint of the wisdom of the ages and centuries-old traditions". Lupin would have liked to meet the brainiac who wrote the Minister's speeches.

His office door swung open. Ted looked up, not at all surprised that someone would come to see him – strange characters always came to the printing-house, proposing to publish a magazine or begging to publish a research paper on Wrackspurts or Nargles.

However, this time, Lupin realised, the conversation would not be about publishing. Because of the two men who entered his office one was the familiar young wizard with a naïve smile. He hadn't been mistaken, after all.

Teddy stood up, smiling slightly. He was not scared, because he had long since adopted the motto "forewarned is forearmed". One could hardly accuse Harry Potter's godson of being careless.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" Lupin asked, inconspicuously taking out his wand.

The visitors shut the door and, Teddy was certain of it, put muting charms on it. _Well, the game is on then._

"You have to come with us, Mr. Lupin," the young wizard said. Teddy only now realised that the wizard wore a cloak with the Ministry logo. He appeared to be an Auror; or, more likely, someone masquerading as an Auror. "We are the Ministry of Magic representatives and we have reasons to believe that you were involved in abducting a patient from the St. Mungo's Hospital."

Lupin was momentarily puzzled. If this was a werewolf pretending to be an Auror, then how did he know about Ron? As far as Teddy learned from his godfather, no official investigation had been launched. The abduction was only discussed privately among the units involved in the werewolves' case. Lupin began having slight doubts as to the correctness of his conclusions; he was frantically thinking over his next move.

"What patient? I haven't heard of any incident," Teddy decided to stall for time. He watched the two wizards exchange glances. Lupin also didn't miss the fact that one of them was slowly drifting to the right. Something fishy was going on, after all.

"You will find out everything once we get to the Ministry," said the young wizard who stood by the door.

"I am sorry, but I am quite busy right now," Teddy forced himself to focus. He had taken the anti-Apparating charms off his office and therefore, didn't have to worry. The main thing was to keep them from using their wands. He had to be on his guard. "Perhaps I can stop by later?"

"No, you shall have to come with us right now," the young Auror seemed to be getting impatient. He quickly took out his wand, intending to Stun Lupin; but Ted had been expecting it.

"Expelliarmus!" he cried and the two wands neatly slid into his hand. The visitors weren't taken aback. No, they simply began to transform; right before his very eyes.

_Plan "B"?! If abduction doesn't work, at least bite?!_ Lupin spun in place even before the two werewolves completed their transformation. Teddy Apparated to the first place that occurred to him – the house of Marie-Victoire's parents', where they had planned to visit in the evening.

"Ted?" Fleur opened the door to him. "Is anything the matter?"

"May I use your fireplace? This is urgent!" Teddy walked into the cottage past his future mother-in-law.

"Of course," the woman said, perplexed, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. Are you all right?"

"Yes, everything is okay," Lupin smiled at Fleur and stepped toward the fireplace, taking the Floo powder off the mantle. "I shall see you in the evening and explain everything."

Soon Teddy was in Hermione's living room. He heard the tea kettle whistle in the kitchen.

"Harry!" the young man was glad to see his godfather at the kitchen table.

"What? Teddy…" Harry must have seen it in the young man's face that something unusual had happened. He rose to his feet.

Without much ado, Lupin told his godfather about what happened in his office. Harry got paler with every word.

"Where are the wands?"

"What?" Teddy didn't understand.

"The wands that you took from the werewolves. They are wizards, and we can track them by their wands."

Lupin nodded and took out his trophies: one wand was long and thin, the other – thicker and of an average length. Harry looked at them closely, but didn't seem to recognize them.

"Let's go back to your office," Harry picked up his cloak from the back of the chair, put the wands away, and headed for the door. "I am sure that they have long Disapparated, but just in case…"

"If they are still werewolves, they will not have. When I Apparated, it triggered the blocking charms on the doors," Lupin hurried after his godfather.

Harry turned and looked at Lupin:

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I am your godson, after all," Lupin smiled in response. Harry clapped him on the shoulder; they walked out onto the front porch and Disapparated almost instantly, causing the Auror on guard to frown in puzzlement.

Both materialized almost simultaneously in Lupin's office; an empty office. Half of the things were strewn around the room; shreds of newspaper littered the floor. The door bore dozens of claw marks. It was a good thing that there were no windows.

Harry was looking at all that with a strange smile:

"If not for the claw marks, I would have thought that Lily and James were having a fight here," he chortled, carefully stepping over the shreds of newspapers and shards of picture frames. Lupin could not understand the reason for Harry's merriment, until his godfather looked at him with apparent relief: "Thank Merlin that you turned out to be so vigilant. If anything happened to you…" Teddy's godfather lost his humour and frowned: "I don't even know anymore from where to expect the next danger."

Together they put the room in order: the waste basket ate up the paper with enviable enthusiasm. Then Lupin took the spells off the door, replaced the anti-Apparating shield, and they walked out into the hallway. Apparently, Teddy's co-workers did not hear anything alarming. Only the wizard on guard at the front door stared, a little perplexed, at Teddy and Harry: no wonder, he let in two young wizards, and Teddy and Harry Potter walked out instead.

"Where to now?" they stood in the middle of the street.

"First to Ollivander's; we'll see if he recognizes these wands," Harry said slowly. "And then – to Kingsley, to put together a description of the attackers. We shall probably need the information about wizards who had recently disappeared – just in case the master wand maker does not recognize your trophies."

Lupin was glad that Harry had gotten his spirit back, although his godfather's eyes behind the glasses clearly showed fear. The famous wizard, who defeated the greatest Dark wizard of all times was afraid. He feared the unknown that surrounded him. And Lupin understood that: if one knew what to expect from the enemy, one could be prepared. However, predicting where the werewolves would strike next was not an easy thing to do.

In a couple of minutes, the two of them were entering a small shop filled with boxes and cases. The bell rang and Ollivander himself appeared, an old man, with shoulders bent by time and adversity. Yet, his eyes still shone with youthfulness and joy of the years past.

"Ah, Mr. Potter…" the old man sat down on a stool, resting his hands on his knees. The wandmaster's years had begun to bear on him. "Problems with your wand?"

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," Teddy's godfather searched his cloak pockets and fished out Lupin's trophies. "Tell me, do you recognize these?"

Ollivander took the wands and began studying them. He returned the longer one right away, shaking his head. The other, however, drew his interest.

"Well, of course, eight inches, aspen, unicorn hair, has been in use for fourteen years," the wandmaster muttered, lovingly turning the wand in his hands. Harry froze in anticipation. Lupin began to feel apprehensive. "This wand was bought from me by Oliver Adams when he went to school."

"Adams…" Teddy's godfather said, as if trying to remember. He frowned and rubbed his forehead; then his eyes widened in fear: "Adams! Damn!"

"What?" Lupin saw Harry turn on his heel and run out the door. Teddy hurriedly took the wands from the wandmaster and, with a quick "thank you", followed his godfather. "Harry, what?!"

"Adams is Zig's intern and they are on duty at the Weasleys' today!" Harry hurried to explain as they were, apparently, about to Disapparate. "To _The Burrow_!"

Lupin also spun in place, almost brushing against a passing by witch, and materialized by the gate of the Weasley family home. Harry was already running toward _The Burrow_, his wand at the ready. Lupin followed suit.

"…He is playing with gnomes in the garden," Teddy caught Arthus Weasley's words as he ran in the house. "Don't worry; he is there with an Auror!"

Harry, however, seemed to look even more worried when he heard that. Lupin ran out the back door next to his godfather, finally beginning to understand. Adams could penetrate any of this house's security.

"Albus!" Harry called, running amid the trees. "Albus, where are you?!"

They broke through the undergrowth and stopped dead in their tracks, unable to believe their eyes.

Albus was squatting before a huge wolf and… scratching it behind the big grey ear.


	48. Part V - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Chapter 8. The Potters.**_

On Saturday morning James woke up late and realised that he had already missed breakfast and, unless he hurried up, would skip the Quidditch practice as well. Yesterday he and Scorpius roamed the castle until midnight, driving Filch's cat to distraction. Theн did this often, hoping that one of these days, Mrs. Norris who was at least thirty years old, would go belly up, tired of chasing the two transgressors up and down the stairs.

James jumped off the bed, put on his uniform after fishing it out of the pile on his chair, and hurried down the hallways and out the front door, toward the Quidditch pitch. The team had already assembled. Michael glared at the running Seeker, and turned away. James waved at his teammates, ran to fetch his broomstick and pads, and got in the lineup next to Charlotte.

"Well, since we have all gathered, let us begin," Michael grumbled and mounted his broomstick. "And, Potter, you should have at least washed your face."

The Seeker grinned, took out his wand, and sprinkled some water on his face. It would dry out in the air. He was getting ready to take off when he saw Rose. She sat on the bench, reading a book.

"Rosie, where is Lily?" James flew his broomstick over to his cousin and dismounted.

"She went somewhere," the girl shrugged her shoulders, without taking her eyes off the book.

"Where did she go? Where?"

"Dunno."

"Rose, didn't she say?"

Rose slapped her book on the bench and snorted in annoyance:

"James! Leave me alone! I have no intention of tracking your sister's every step! If you missed the moment she fell for Malfoy, it is not my fault!"

"No need to yell," the youth remarked, glaring at several fourth-year girls who were closely following the quarrel. They immediately blushed and turned away. "…Wait! You knew that she liked Malfoy, didn't you?! That she had fallen for him?"

"As far as I know, you are having a Quidditch practice right now," Rose reminded him.

"Answer my question. Did you know?"

"Jim, please, leave me alone," the girl asked. "Lily couldn't help but fall for him because you and he are together all the time! And if you remember how close you and she are, there is nothing improbable in that your feelings passed onto her, transformed in her tender girl's soul, and started to grow…"

"Wait a minute," James sat down next to Rose, frowning. "And now repeat everything you said, but in human language, not didactic tirades a la Hermione Weasley."

"Thank Merlin that I speak like my mother, and not like Malfoy. One can only pity you. I hope that Lily can reform him – and you as well. And now, leave me alone!" Rose turned away from him and buried her nose in the book. James glared at her.

"Potter!" Michael called out to him.

"One second!" James waved him off and turned back to his cousin. "Is she still mad at me? Have I disappointed her?"

The girl sighed:

"Of course not. Lily thinks you the best of brothers…"

Rose looked so skeptical that James was offended:

"You don't, however, right?"

"Well, if my brother broadcast the details of my personal life to the entire school, I would have turned him into a slug, dried, brewed a potion…"

"Yes, yes, I get the idea. Make the potion, feed it to a niffler, kill the niffler, burn its carcass, bury it, burn the soil, and we would never find any traces of Hugo on this Earth," James chortled. "Let's go back to your nonsensical theories. You said that she fell for Malfoy because of me."

"Listen, have you nothing better to do? What difference does it make to you, anyway? Busy yourself with something you actually have some control over, like a Quidditch practice! And stop pestering others," Rose turned away from him again. "Michael will curse you any minute now!"

James hemmed.

The Gryffindor did not mean to watch his sister closely, but he couldn't help himself. He was telling himself that he was simply concerned about her, but the truth was that he was jealous. He was jealous of his sister and his friend. It must be how his mother was jealous of her husband and Hermione; just a little bit, but jealous. Just like James was jealous of his father and Ted Lupin. It was all selfishness, unwillingness to accept that your loved one had someone in his or her heart and mind but you.

Just then, Lily was coming down from the Gryffindor tower where she had gone to find her brother. For some reason he didn't show up for the Quidditch practice, and she went looking for him. Lily supposed that he had the audacity to oversleep; however, when she opened the door to the Seventh Years' bedroom, all she found was Claude Vain, who was changing his clothes and yelled at her terribly in embarrassment.

They must have missed each other. Or did they? _What if something happened to James? No, it couldn't be._ Yet, how could she know for sure? The answer came quickly to her: _the Slytherins_. If neither Malfoy nor Xenia knew James' whereabouts, it was time to panic. Meanwhile… Well, who knew with whom her brother had spent the night?

Her own thoughts made Lily blush as she hurried toward the dungeons of the Slytherin house. Could she have ever imagined that she would rush to the Slytherins for help?

The girl froze before the empty, slightly damp wall, realizing that she would not be able to find out anything simply because she didn't know how to get to Malfoy or Xenia. She stomped her foot, trying to figure out what to do, when all of a sudden fortune smiled at her. A portion of the wall slid sideways and a tall Slytherin girl with shiny black hair walked out into the hallway. She glanced at Lily with disdain:

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

Lily raised her eyebrows: how did this Seventh Year know who she was?

"Please, get Xenia or Malfoy," the Gryffindor asked politely.

"As if I would fetch either for your sake! Sleeping with Malfoy does not make you any better than you are, Potter," the Slytherin scoffed, turned, and walked away, looking smug. Lily reached for her wand, intending to curse the arrogant brunette, when the wall parted again and Malfoy himself showed up in the hallway. He looked in surprise at Lily and then at the retreating Slytherin girl.

"Hello," Lily said a little uncertainly, feeling immediately bashful; after all, she hadn't seen the Slytherin or her brother since yesterday, when she ran out of the Transfiguration classroom, laughing hysterically. She looked timidly into his face. It appeared as though he had very recently woken up; however, he wore a warm cloak, a scarf around his neck, and held a cap in his hands.

"Auditing the dungeons?" Scorpius grinned, looking at her. "What's with you? Something happened?"

"I… I was looking for James," she forced out, taking a small step back. He just seemed a little too tall; and thrilling. Since when did his smell become so thrilling for her?

"And there I was, happy in thinking that you came to wake me up," he was still smiling. "Why, had Potter promised to spend the night with me?"

"No, it's just that he was running late for Quidditch practice, and I went searching for him. You don't know where he is then?" she looked, a little frightened, into his face. Silver was lapping in his eyes.

"Well, I do, actually. Xenia shook me awake a couple of minutes ago and said that she'd seen Potter making a dash for the pitch. She went there as well. I thought about it and decided that it was a good idea to watch the Gryffindors fly, what with us beating them in the next game," Scorpius made a step toward her, and Lily had to raise her head even higher in order to keep eye contact. "Wish to accompany me?"

"Will I not be distracting you from your recognizance mission?" she smiled. He closed the distance between them with the last step toward her and loomed, grinning, over her.

"I shall try to live with it," he whispered, his fingers touching her face lightly.

"Let's go then," Lily nodded, pulling back a little, but he wouldn't let her as he put his arms around her. "Scorpius…"

"We'll go… _after_ I have shown you how I say good morning to my girlfriend," the corner of his mouth twitched when her breath caught in her throat and her light-green eyes opened wide.

"Well, show me then. Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Your girlfriend," Lily whispered, and Malfoy knew that she was teasing him.

"Very funny," he stroked her back, making her press closer to him. "Do you need an official notice then?"

"Yes, I do, and preferably one written on paper embossed with your coat-of-arms, so that you couldn't deny it later," Lily played along, feeling the warmth of his hand even through her clothes. Suddenly, she felt as though she had been evicted from heaven – Scorpius drew back and stepped toward the wall. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"To get the paper," she shrugged his shoulders, but Lily grabbed his hand, laughing.

"I was simply joking. And if we stay here any longer, you will miss your chance to see the brilliant flying of the Gryffindor team," she pulled him along down the hallway and, to her surprise, he let her.

They walked outside together, followed by other students' incredulous stares. The expression on the face of several female students made Lily squeeze the chap's hand; her chap's. It was so strange. Her boyfriend, Scorpius Malfoy. She smiled broadly at the thought.

"What were you thinking about just now?" Malfoy raised one eyebrow, as he looked into the girl's face. "Deciding which curse to use on my fans?"

"Fans?" she chuckled. "Oh, no, I shall save my curses for the occasion of my seeing you with them. And I shall use them on _you_."

"Why, you are a dangerous girl, Lily Potter," he smiled, stroking her hand with his thumb. "Now I shall take care to hide thoroughly."

"Malfoy…" she turned to him threateningly, and laughed at once, seeing his merry face. "You are insufferable."

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders. They reached the pitch and saw that the Gryffindor team was still in the air.

"There is Xenia; let us go to her," Scorpius helped Lily up the stairs (which she had always managed on her own before, but it felt so good that she accepted his assistance), and they sat on the bench next to Xenia who was watching James.

"Now I understand why it took you so long to get here," Xenia gave the two of them a knowing smile and Lily blushed anew. "And there I was, thinking that you went back to sleep."

"I would have, had I not been afraid that Potter would fall off the broomstick to his death before having told me everything he thought about me," Malfoy grinned, feeling quite at ease sitting in-between the two girls.

Two days ago Lily would have at least scolded the Slytherin for saying that, but today she merely shook her head, hiding a smile. She must really be in love; and she had accepted it.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you," Scorpius leaned over to her, his breath tickling her ear, "how did you sleep? No masquerade?"

She smiled:

"I slept well. No dreams. Not that I need them any longer," she turned her head slightly to meet his gaze. Their faces were mere inches apart. "My dream has become reality."

She felt his hand close around hers, and for a moment it seemed to Lily that they were alone in the world. But only for a moment…

"Hey, Malfoy!"

They flinched and turned their heads – James Potter was hovering over the stands, Snitch in hand. Lily bit her lip in an attempt to hold back laughter at the look on her brother's face. It was apparent that James was fighting back the brotherly jealousy.

"Hello, Potter," Scorpius turned toward his friend, his arm still around Lily's waist. "Looking for your Snitch or a new excuse for a duel?"

The Gryffindor's frown deepened.

"James, is the practice over?" Xenia walked to the railing, forcing her friend to shift his gaze from Lily to her.

"Sort of," he grinned. "Wait there, I'll be right back."

He turned his broomstick around and was soon landing by the locker rooms.

Xenia turned to Malfoy and Lily:

"Well?"

"Let's go," Scorpius rose and offered Lily his hand. They started down the stairs. Lily was following the Slytherin, a little annoyed at his slow pace. Xenia had gained on them already.

Then she suddenly realised that Scorpius never did anything without a plan. He turned sharply and Lily found herself in his arms, almost crashing down the steps. His strong hands pressed her to him.

"What?" she looked up and saw that Xenia, with a farewell glance at them, disappeared behind the wall. "You sneak…"

"I am a Slytherin," he corrected Lily. "And you owe me two kisses already."

"And why is that?" she pushed at his chest with her palms, leaning back a little.

"One in the dungeons; and one – on the stands. Thanks to your brother," Scorpius grinned.

"Certainly, provided that you let go of me and let me see him," Lily replied, tracing the emblem on his cloak with her finger.

"Do you want me to let you go?" he leaned toward her ear. That smell again; it drove Lily to insanity. She shook her head.

"Malfoy!" they suddenly heard a yell from behind the partition. _James, devil take him._ "Malfoy, come here, quick!"

Scorpius cursed under his breath, then pulled back and allowed Lily to go down the last few steps.

"Three."

"What?" she looked at his vexed face.

"Three kisses," he said simply, walking out into the bright sunlight. "So, what happened? Were you being cut into pieces, yelling like that?"

James merely nodded, but he was not looking at the Slytherin. Lily followed his gaze and realised that her brother was not at all trying to interrupt their privacy.

Xenia stood on the trail to the castle, not far from the pitch. She was talking to a tall young wizard in a black cloak. The wizard stood sideways to the friends, his face hidden by long black hair. A slightly crooked nose; proud bearing. He held a plain suitcase in his hand.

"Who is this bat?" James said through clenched teeth, staring at his girlfriend and the stranger. Xenia smiled as she was quickly saying something to the man.

"I have no idea. However, it is now clear to me how he got here – flew on his webbed wings?" Malfoy grinned. "Did land well though. By the looks of his nose, he was braking with his face."

"Aha, and he has a spindle in his back to make him look like a non-goblin," the Gryffindor seconded his friend, clenching his fists.

"Potter, you are jealous," Malfoy drawled smugly. "And if I were to compare you and your opponent… I think that you would win even if you grew a mop like his."

"I like him," Lily remarked, looking closely at Xenia's interlocutor. Both chaps turned toward her, equally disdainful grimaces on their faces. "No, really, I think that this makes him look… aristocratic."

"Aristocratic?" Scorpius looked as though he was ready to throw up. "What is aristocratic about this… this goblin?"

Lily barely held back laughter as she looked from Malfoy to her brother. At that moment Xenia turned and walked toward her friends, as the unfamiliar wizard headed for the castle.

"What's wrong with you?" the Slytherin looked from one chap to the other.

Lily couldn't speak – she was choking with laughter.

"Who? Was? That?" James breathed, making a step toward his girlfriend.

"Oh… That is Theo. Well, Theodic Mancilli. He went to the same Academy as I and taught the junior years," Xenia explained. "And what happened to your faces?"

"And what, pray tell, is he doing here?" Malfoy seemed to have gotten hold of himself; still, he moved ever so subtly toward Lily and put his arm around her. His gesture was so possessive that the girl felt even more amused. He was jealous! And because of a single phrase she said!

"He will be working at Hogwarts, helping Madam Pomfrey and Professor Slughorn. He said that he had written to McGonagall and she agreed to hire him. James, is it just me or are you attempting to kill him by boring your eyes into his back?" Xenia waved her hand in front of the Gryffindor's face.

"Why should I bother?" James asked as though a little offended, finally looking at the Slytherin. "We have enough of these beasts in the castle as it is."

"Beasts?" Xenia frowned and then suddenly smiled. "Now, don't tell me that you are going to be jealous of every person who speaks to me. He is simply a good acquaintance of mine!"

"I am not jealous," the Gryffindor growled. "Anyway, I am hungry!"

Xenia and Lily exchanged amused glances, but remained silent.

The four of them spent time before dinner sitting on the lakeshore (after paying a visit to the house elves in the kitchen) and chatted. Lily couldn't remember laughing so much before. Even the thoughts about her mother that had been haunting her retreated to the back of her mind.

She began to better understand James and Scorpius. They always picked on each other and joked, but the Gryffindor was now certain – if either of them needed help, the other would be there to give it. If one was in danger, the other would be there to protect. Her father was right – James was lucky to have a friend like that.

They came to dinner together.

"Damn, he is here also!" James plopped down at the table angrily. Lily followed his gaze and saw Xenia's acquaintance with the strange name at the teachers' table. "He spoiled my appetite."

Lily merely hemmed and began to eat.

James shook his head and looked at his sister. A day spent outside had been good for her. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes sparkled, as before, when their mother was alive. It seemed that he had Malfoy to thank for bringing Lily back to life.

As if on cue, the Slytherin materialized behind them.

"Lily, are you done eating?"

The girl raised her eyes at Malfoy.

"Why? Have any ideas?"

"Well, you owe me something," Scorpius thrust his hands in his pockets.

"Owes you what?" James peered at his sister with suspicion. Lily seemed to know what he meant because she grinned.

"I promised to show him a book on the pure blood theory that I had spotted in the library," Lily lied, getting up.

"Malfoy, you are interested in books now? This is something new," James raised his eyebrows.

Scorpius merely shrugged his shoulders vaguely, and he and Lily left the Hall.

"He didn't believe us," the girl remarked as they were going up the steps.

"So?"

"By the way, where are we going?"

"To the library," the Slytherin answered promptly. "You said it yourself… Besides, I didn't know that there were such books at Hogwarts."

"All right, let's go," Lily shrugged her shoulders. They entered the library, empty at this hour, and the girl walked confidently between the isles. Malfoy followed after her without question.

"Here," she picked up a small book and turned to the Slytherin. He was not interested in the pure blood theory though. She realised it as soon as she looked into the lapping silver of his eyes. "Scorpius, we are in the library…"

He moved closer, taking the book out of her hands:

"Well, I have been thinking about finding a proper use for it…"

"Have you?" she stepped back and leaned against the shelves, captivated by his gaze. He put his arms around her; the "Theory of Pure Blood" fell to the floor.

"Yes, not without your help. A good place to pay back your debt, don't you think?"

Lily didn't, but then she didn't feel like thinking altogether, because Scorpius pressed his lips to hers, getting her debt paid; with interest.

Lily lost track of time and kisses; she was lost in Malfoy's poignantly sweet embrace. She had never imagined that kisses could rob her of her mind, making her one sheer emotion.

He pulled back once they were both out of breath, when they heard a cold mocking voice behind them:

"May I be allowed to take a book? Provided that you are both finished, of course."

Lily turned around and met a deep dark gaze that made a chill come over her, although not a moment ago she had been aflame in Malfoy's arms.

**This finishes Part V and the first one-third of the book. I am very glad and humbled that it has found its English-speaking readers - that was my intent from the beginning. I can only hope that you will persevere through the other two-thirds of it. :) Lots of character and story development coming up. And, by the way, some of you were absolutely correct - the smallest character IS "the key to it all"!**


	49. Part VI - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**Part Six. Spiderweb Design**

_**Chapter 1. James Potter.**_

He was torn by mixed feelings.

The dull, aching longing for his mother. The joy of first true love.

Brotherly jealosy toward Lily's first romance. Happiness for his sister and his best friend.

Growing love, seemingly, for the first time entrenched in his heart. Shoots of hatred and contempt, also for the first time, growing in his soul.

James Potter lay on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, digesting copious supper. And also trying to sort himself out. That was a first for him, too.

_All right, why not start with the most interesting and exciting topic for reminiscience – girls._ Had he ever been in love before? He had, more than once.

When he was nine, he had childish romantic feelings for a girl who lived on the adjacent street and passed regularly by his window. He went so far as to get up early, climb onto the windowsill, and wait for her to walk to school. She was just a girl; he didn't even know her name, but he liked to watch her go by.

At twelve he fell in love with Marie-Victoire, his cousin. He was infatuated, content simply to look at her, her hair, her smile. But then Teddy Lupin came along. Did he suffer long? No, he was only twelve. And then Malfoy showed up in his life; and he no longer had time for girls.

At fourteen, at Christmas, he and Malfoy drank a bottle of butterbeer, and then the Slytherin dragged over two girls from his House and they played a strange game, one that was surely a Slytherin invention. A dark room. A boy and a girl. If he catches her within a minute – he kisses her. James was a great Gryffindor Seeker. He liked that game; except that he had a headache the next morning and he was sorry for what he had done. Still, he saw one of the girls a few times in the dark room again, but they were no longer playing games. Nothing personal, mere curiosity. James was still certain that it was all Malfoy's bad influence.

The same year he was pursued actively by Faust's nice, a Fifth Year. She was okay, but terribly stuck up. She once caught James in the hallway and dragged him into an empty classroom. Wow, he had never before kissed anyone like he kissed her. She asked him to teach her; and she turned out to be a good student, too. Of course, Faust himself walked in on them, but the crime was worth the punishment.

And then there was her. Violet.

James stretched, turning onto his side and staring at the fire.

She had beautiful arms; and legs, too, of course. He fell in love with her. Head over heels. Yet, how could he speak to her when he was a Sixth Year and she – a Seventh? She was the Ravenclaw Seeker. They were rivals. But he never let her win. She got angry when he snatched the Snitch right from under her nose; and he winked at her; and smiled. On Sunday they visited Hogsmead together. And a month later he learned for the first time what it was like to be with a girl; a girl he loved. He and Violet dated for six months, until it became clear to them that their feelings had cooled. They remained friends. James didn't suffer and wasn't terribly jealous when she began dating a bloke from Ravenclaw.

James closed his eyes, listening to himself. Xenia. Even her name was unusual. Not to mention his feelings for her. He didn't even know what to call it. Next to her he became humble. Serene. Ready to do anything as long as she was with him. Her arms brought heaven and hell. Without them he longed, suffered; in them he felt the happiest, but then fire immediately began burning inside him.

The fire of lust. The fire of passion. The fire of jealousy. The fire of possessiveness. And the building fire of love.

"James," Lily sat next to him on the edge of the couch. Her brother instantly noticed the special luster in her eyes. "Do you want to talk?"

"Mmmm… I am a bit preoccupied at the moment," the youth replied, smiling slightly.

"With what?"

"I am heart-searching, trying to understand what's inside," James answered simply, sitting up and lowering his feet to the floor.

"And what are you finding so far, besides the constant desire to stick it to Malfoy and cause yet another mischief?" Lily looked tenderly at her brother.

"Oh, you cannot even imagine all the stuff that is in there…"

"Want to talk about it?" James thought for a moment, and then, unexpectedly for both of them, nodded. Lily smiled and stood up. "Then let's go to my room."

They went up to Lily's bedroom. She locked the door so that they would not be disturbed.

It had been a long time since they talked like that. Like when they were children, when they crawled into the attic and chatted about everything in the world, until their rmother came for them, scolding them for scaring her with their disappearance act. They could talk for hours, about everything.

Of course, it stopped when James went to school. The last time they went to the attic at Christmas was when James was a Second Year. It was there that he told her about the most disgusting, pathetic, arrogant, and stupid urchin in the entire school; about Scorpius Malfoy. They then were laughing at the Slytherin and made ephemeral plans of how best to get on his nerves. They laughed.

And then it stopped altogether. Because her brother who came back at the end of the year was a different James Potter. It was James Potter who now had a best friend. And they no longer talked in the attic because they had nothing to talk about. The boy could not explain to his sister what happened between him and Malfoy. The older they got, the less they spoke about serious matters. Mostly they joked; especially about Albus. They didn't become more distant, no. They grew out of the childhood friendship, when they could have told each other anything, without shame. Each had their own secrets now; their own lives.

Lily sat on the bed, cross-legged; James settled across from her, leaning against the bedpost. He saw that something was nagging at his sister, and waited for her to speak.

"You know, it seems strange to me that we so quickly got over this…" Lily began. "That we were able to once again laugh and enjoy life after having just buried Mum."

"Do you feel guilty?" James clarified. She nodded. "Me, too. Sometimes. And then I realise that it is not our fault. It is our strength. Because we haven't forgotten her; we love her. It is just that we were able to live on. And we had some help, you've got to admit…"

Lily nodded, smiling slightly:

"It is strange to think that we had help from the Slytherins."

"I am not talking only about Xenia and Malfoy."

"What about then?"

"About our dreams," James caught her eye. They easily switched to what worried both of them. It had always been that way. They didn't play games, didn't beat around the bush. If they needed to say or discuss something, they went right to the heart of the matter. Because they were close, despite the difference in gender and outlook on life. "Remember how we had the same dream at the same time?"

"Are you sure that it was the same one?"

"Yes, both you and I told Malfoy about it. The same dream. Had you been seeing such dreams for long?"

"Yes, for more than a year. They changed, though, gradually. First it was simply a person wearing a mask. He moved closer with every passing month. And then he began shielding me from something. Well, eventually I was able to rip aside the mask. It was Malfoy."

James nodded:

"I saw that."

"Jim, but there was also a dog there," Lily frowned. "Was it the dog from your dreams?"

Her brother nodded again. He told her (who else could he tell?) about the four animals that had been visiting him, rejoicing, merrymaking, worrying and grieving with him. Lily listened attentively, but her eyes gradually widened, as though she knew something, yet unknown to James.

"Listen, this is incredible," she whispered. "It is… really strange."

"What?"

"It all makes sense, Jim. A dog, a stag, and a wolf. A doe," she shook her head. "Haven't you realised?"

"What?"

"The Marauders."

"Who?"

Lily was incredulous:

"Don't you know about the Marauders?!"

"Must I? I usually sleep in History of Magic…"

"James, what does it have to do with the History of Magic? This is our family history!"

"Oh… you know, I haven't really paid attention to that either. Well, besides the story of Harry Potter, of course. It is hard not to know about that."

"I can't believe that you have never heard the story of Marauders! Dad told it to me many times!"

"Lily, you were always closer to Dad than I. Besides, he and I have usually spoken about the present and the future, not the past," James shrugged his shoulders. "So, what about the Marauders?"

"The Marauders were four friends that once used to study here. Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail. Remus Lupin was the wolf; Sirius Black – the dog; James Potter – the stag… The fourth name is never spoken. He was the rat. They all became Animagi, except for Lupin."

James stared at his sister:

"But… are you sure?"

"Of course."

"I knew about Gramp's friends, but I never knew that they were called the Marauders. And that they were Animagi."

"I think that Dad didn't want to tell you that."

"Why?"

"Just so that you didn't suddenly decide that you could become an Animagus as well. I wouldn't put it past you, James Potter II."

"Yeah… That is a good idea; it is a pity that Malfoy and I never thought of that. So, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and our grandfather… The fourth is the one who betrayed them. Father said that, I remember. But then the doe…"

"I think that is our grandmother. And, you know, I dreamed about her once. She was crying after Mum died."

"I saw her too," James nodded. "So, I dream about the animal essences of people long dead?"

Lily shrugged her shoulders, deep in thought:

"This is so strange."

"Of course, it is strange. Why do I see them?"

"I don't know. Maybe they are protecting you? Try to watch over our father through you? Or they simply live in the memories that father passed on to you? It happens. It is like Teddy who can sense danger, like an animal. Or Rose who speaks just like Hermione sometimes. It is magic… Although I have never heard of something like this. It is as if… they live on in you."

"Well, we are not going to understand it anyway. However, it appears that you and I saw the same dream at the same time… twice," James settled more comfortably on the bed, tucking one leg under him. "Why? Why now…"

"That is, actually, simple, I think," Lily smiled sadly. "We have the same blood; and common grief. The Blood Magic. Remember what Father said? Love. The most powerful magic. Our love for Mum connected us, bound us together at the moment when our minds were the most relaxed. A bridge of dreams. Well, it is as if you and I were on the same wavelength; grieving for Mum. That was why we must have seen the same dream. As though our dreams merged and became one; our griefs merged and became one."

"What for?"

"To help… To connect us. To give us strength," Lily guessed.

"Or to make it easier for me to realise that once upon a time you and Malfoy would be walking around the castle, holding hands," James grinned, unwilling to be serious any longer.

"Are you against it, after all?" Lily moved closer. "You don't like it that I am with him?"

"I don't like the principle of you being with anyone. You are only fifteen…" He reached out and stroked her hair. "Could it be temporary insanity? Because of all that happened?"

Lily caught his hand:

"No. I have liked him for a long time; I just refused to accept it. Even to myself. And I was afraid…"

"Of what?"

"That he would laugh at me, as usual," Lily shrugged her shoulders, looking away. "You know, I was afraid of how many others were going to react: our parents, Rose and the other Weasleys; finally, Scorpius' family…" James grinned, but Lily didn't notice it, "but I never expected you to react so negatively. I thought that you would be all for it. He is your friend."

"Well, in general, I am for it," James drawled, and Lily stared at him in disbelief, "it's just that… I never thought that I would see my little sister next to such a depraved and spoiled individual as Malfoy."

"I am not little any more," Lily snorted. "And, Jim, what did you expect, after I grew up, adoring my insufferable older brother? No less depraved and spoiled individual!"

"Oh…" James laughed and hugged his sister. "For the sake of hearing this, I am ready to put up with this tow-haired Slytherin holding your hand. Just keep in mind," he pushed Lily back a little, "I do not want to walk into the two of you making out all over the castle."

"Oh, Jim, you are so funny when you are frowning," she hugged him impetuously again. "I keep asking myself who was it who brought you to your senses after you left, having almost killed Malfoy?"

"Xenia, who else…" He let go of Lily's hand, grabbed a pillow, stuffed it behind his back, and smiled contentedly.

"You know, I am beginning to love your girlfriend," Lily leaned back against the headbord.

"Well, life is definitely going back to normal," her brother grinned, yawning relaxedly. "If only that creature with a beak for a nose wasn't around…"

"Are you talking about Xenia's acquaintance?" Lily's smile waned. "He is so… strange."

"I noticed…" James didn't notice the change in his sister's expression. "Nasty chap."

"You are just jealous, that is all," Lily stated, stretching her legs and mock-kicking her brother's knee with her foot. "I hope that you won't forget to turn on you brain before attacking Xenia with some idiotic insinuations."

"Why idiotic?" the youth looked offended. "I never make such…"

Lily raised her eyebrow skeptically and he gave up:

"All right, all right, it happens. I shall control myself… as long as that goblin keeps his distance from Xenia. Even if he is the Minister himself, I shall not tolerate him next to my girlfriend. Hairy freak…"

"Don't speak about him like that; you don't know him," Lily asked. "There is something… mysterious about him."

"What makes you think that?" James looked wary.

"Just seems that way, that is all," Lily's gaze shifted down to her hands.

"Of course, the girls are always drawn to a mystery. I should tip Malfoy off…"

"Very funny," his sister shook her head.

James merely hemmed, feeling that the conversation had been useful. The chaos of emotions began to settle down, clear up. Life was definitely going back to normal. If only he could be certain that it would last.


	50. Part VI - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

Chapter 2. Lily Potter.

It really wasn't a good thing for Malfoy to have found a new use for the library. Because now Lily was having trouble focusing, when using it properly.

The Gryffindor sat at the table, head propped on her hand, staring off into space with an absentminded smile. An open book and parchement that she had only one-third completed in the last hour lay before her.

She hadn't touched Scorpius for almost twenty four hours. Horror! How was she surviving?!

Ever since that strange Mancilli man had interrupted their privacy, it was as though the entire world rebelled against Lily and her desire to be near Scorpius. James and Scorpius spent Saturday evening in detention. As for Lily, she, with uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm attended the prefect meeting which lasted abominably long.

Lily smiled slightly as she once again pulled from under her unfinished essay the scroll that Jamess had passed on to her late last night. The paper bore the Malfoy coat-of-arms. Upon first unrolling the parchment, she burst out laughing, knowing immediately what it was. Just a few words, yet how happy she felt, looking at the cursive letters: "This document hereby officially confirms that Lily Jean Potter is Scorpius Draco Malfoy's girlfriend, with all rights, privileges, and obligations thereof."

She had yet to find out what those "rights, privileges, and obligations" were. But for now she was at the library, where Rose dragged her right after breakfast, thinking of what Malfoy expectations of her might be. She wanted to drop everything right now, run to find him, and hug him. She wanted to, yet she held herself back, because she was afraid that Scorpius wouldn't like it. He was so independent. He loved his freedom.

Yet, he had written it himself that Lily had her "rights and privileges"; the right to him and his attention.

"Lil, either put the quill aside or quit sitting there with a silly smile on your face and get on with your essay," Rose advised from across the table from Lily, looking up from her own homework.

Lily glanced at the roll of parchment beneath her unmoving hand, holding a quill. The ink was dripping from its tip, running all over the written text.

"There I was, thinking that you would be a positive influence on Malfoy and James, making them start to pay at least a little attention to their studies; from what I am seeing, I have been overly optimistic. Instead, they have already begun to influence you," Rose turned a page in the book from which she had been copying something. "Lily, do you even hear me?"

She nodded, although her cousin's words seemed to go right through her. Holy Merlin, Malfoy seemed to have permeated the library with feelings and thoughts that made it difficult for her to focus on her studies. After all, how could she possibly be reading or writing when she remembered the two of them being alone yesterday right behind those bookshelves and he was kissing her as though without her lips he would perish, suffocate?! And she also felt that only when she was with him could she live, breath, and feel joy.

_Is it right? Should it be like this? Should one person be so dependent on another?_

And what if she had simply imagined all this? Just romatic gibberish induced by his skillful kisses? He was so strong, brave, self-assured, while she..? To her, all this was new, alarmingly-beautiful. The unknown beckoned.

_And what with this strange dependency from him? From his eyes where the ice sometimes melts and the molten silver is lapping, sparkling, enticing in its beauty…_

"Lily," Rose once again broke into her cousin's thoughts. "Lily, I have finished. Are you staying?"

She rose, gathering her books.

"Yes, I shall stay and finish up," Lily watched Rose put back the books and leave, and then got back to her work. That Transfiguration essay just wasn't coming together. And all because of the feelings she had never known existed, raging inside her.

She drew "S" and "M", weaving them then into an intricate design. Then she looked up and the gaze she met made her shiver again. The black-haired Healer Mancilli had walked from behind the bookshelves and was heading toward the door when his and Lily's eyes met.

_Such terrifying eyes. Such cold, piercing gaze._ It was as thought he said: I know everything about you.

Lily started when the library door opened and the person she had been thinking about all morning walked in. Scorpius Malfoy grinned rapaciously when he saw Theodic Mancilly right before him, and then his gaze shifted to Lily.

"So," the young teacher's lips twisted into a smirk; and his face, when he turned to Lily with a knowing glance, showed clearly that he hadn't forgotten the scene he witnessed yesterday. The girl blushed. "The entr'acte is over. The actors are called on stage."

"And the superfluous props – put in the closet," Scorpus thrust his hands in his pockets, eyeing Mancilly with an arrogant expression. "Not to be an eyesore."

"Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pince appeared in the aisle, "Why are you wearing your street clothes in here?! Please, put yourself in proper form immediately!"

Lily saw contempt with which her friend was looking at Mancilly. The other merely smiled, walked past the Slytherin and left the library.

The girl watched Malfoy pointedly take off his scarf, while looking her straight in the eye. He then slowly pulled off his gloves; one by one, undid the hooks on his cloak. Lily forgot how to breathe. Not because of what he was doing – because of the look in his eyes. Just as the eyes of the departed wizard made her freeze over, the eyes of her beloved Slytherin made her go hot; especially that look in them.

Pince watched carefully as Malfoy walked over to Lily's table and sat down.

"Hello," the girl smiled at him, half turning. "What brings you here?"

"I had a feeling that I should stop by and remind you that books are not the only things craving your attention… And that it is lunchtime."

"How was your morning?" Lily began slowly collecting her belongings. Her long-suffering essay was stuffed unceremoniously in her bag. The girl tried to hide from the Slytherin the fact that his letter lay beneath it.

"As always," he shrugged, watching her hands move. "I don't understand how you could stand being here…"

"Meaning?" Lily picked up the book in order to put it back on the shelf.

"Well… The atmosphere seemed slightly unwholesome, what with the hooked-nosed one here."

"Scorpius," she whispered, sitting back down. "Leave him alone, really…"

"No chance, as long as she shows up where you are," the Slytherin snorted stubbornly, taking the book from her and putting it away himself.

Lily merely shook her head, fighting back the smile that always appeared involuntarily on her face in his presence.

They walked together to the Great Hall. Her hand nestled cosily in his large and warm palm.

They had already passed two hallways when Scorpius suddenly froze.

"What the..?"

He merely shook his head and turned in the direction opposite to the Great Hall. Lily followed him.

She cried out when she saw what was happening. James stood against the far wall, his wand raised. Across from him Theodic Mancilly stood tense and erect, not even trying to reach for his wand.

"What is going on?" the girl started for the opponents, but Scorpius grabbed her by the waist. She turned around to look at the Slytherin, when James suddenly dropped to his knees, letting go of his wand and squeezing his head between his hands. "James!"

She wrenched free and ran to her brother, getting down next to him and pulling at his arm.

"James, what is wrong with you?" she turned to Mancilly and shouted: "What did you do to him?!"

Scorpius was already standing next to her, wand in hand, but the other man did not even stir, staring into Lily's eyes, filled with disdain.

"Nothing," Theodic Mancilly was a little pale, but he continued to look Lily in the eye. "One has to answer force with force."

"You…!"

"Scorpius, no!" Lily was on her feet, warding off the Slytherin's arm with the wand in it. Malfoy had clearly been intending to jump to his friend's defence. "Stop it, both of you!"

Lily stood between the Healer and her friends, looking indignantly into Theodic's terrifying eyes:

"You are not worthy of the title of Healer! You had no right to attack a student! It is easy, isn't it, to use your powers on a seventeen-year-old boy?" she didn't know what had made her so angry at this man, who only came to the castle the day before. "Look at what you have done to him!"

She turned back toward her brother: he was still on his knees; his face looked slightly green, his eyes still filled with the horror of what he had experienced. Lily wanted to hug him, but that would require her to release her grip on Scorpius' arm. She knew that the Slytherin was ready to curse the man who had dared to hurt his friend. And the only thing keeping him from doing so was her hand on his forearm.

"Power is given to a man not to hurt others, but to help! I cannot believe that you, Healer, are unaware of that!" Lily felt no longer afraid to look into those cold eyes.

Theodic remained silent. Lily knelt next to her brother, turning her back on this strange man. She had an inkling that her brother had probably provoked the altercation – she knew him well enough for that. Yet, how low was it to resort to advanced magic in a quarrel with a Seventh Year; of that it had been advanced magic, Lily had no doubt. There were no visibly injuries, yet her brother was scared. Crushed.

"Jim, how are you?" she carefully took his face in her hands. Scorpius knelt next to them, still gripping his wand. "Should we take you to Madam Pomphrey?"

She and Malfoy looked around when the man behind them turned and walked away.

"Scorpius, fetch Xenia, she can help…"

"Don't," Jamed breathed, finally able to speak. "I am fine…"

"What happened?" Lily watched Scorpius help her brother to his feet. James was still pale.

"Nothing," the Gryffindore didn't meet his sister's eyes. "I need to get something to eat…"

He slowly walked down the hall. Lily and Scorpius exchanged glances and followed him. Lily was at a loss: _what happened in this hallway?_ What pain had this man caused her brother?


	51. Part VI - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

_**Chapter 3. Harry Potter.**_

Terror. Fear. Shock.

Harry stared at Albus gently stroke a horrible beast, ready to dash for him, but Lupin held him back.

"Albus, what are you doing?" Teddy asked evenly, keeping his grip on Harry. And the other understood the unspoken message: no quick movement, no loud voices.

"I am soothing the doggie," the boy replied simply, his back still to the adults. "He is scared and in pain. I want to help him."

"Al, come here, please," Harry seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

"He does not want me to leave," Albus was still stroking the wolf's back. The animal stood still. And Harry suddenly realised – his son was staring the werewolf straight in the eye. Hypnosis? Or was it something else, something he couldn't even fathom? "He is afraid."

"Albus, can you make it so that your… friend stops being afraid?" neither Teddy nor Harry dared move. It was clear that should the boy break the eye contact with the werewolf, the beast would attack the child in an instant.

"I am trying," the boy was scratching the wolf behind the ears. "But there is someone else in there."

"Someone else? Al, what do you mean?"

"He is kind and he is scared. But there is someone else in there."

"Albus, can you leave your friend for a moment?" Harry felt like a coiled spring, ready to jump to his son's defense on a moment's notice.

"No," the boy responded simply. "If I leave, he will become angry again."

"Again?" Harry and his godson exchanged glances. How should they deal with this?

"He was angry before, but now he is just scared. He is afraid of you, Daddy."

"Albus, I will not harm him."

"He is tired…" the little palm stroking gray fur. "He is sleepy… He is very tired of it all."

Harry quickly pointed his wand at the wolf. Once the werewolf closed his eyes, the strange and inexplicable control that his son had over him would be broken.

The wolf lowered himself onto his belly, still following the boy with his eyes. _There… now he will close his eyes and…_ But Albus simply got up and walked away, while the wolf stayed down, breathing evenly.

And then, right before Harry's eyes, the beast began transforming into a human. Harry darted toward his son and stood between him and the transforming werewolf.

"Teddy, take him inside!" Harry pointed his wand at the man lying before him. It was Adams, Zig's intern. "Hurry, Ted! And bring the Aurors."

"Daddy, where is the dog?"

"It ran away, Albus," Harry said soothingly, keeping Adams in his sights, as he began to stir.

Harry's hand trembled. Not with fear. Not with impatience. With hatred. With pain. With the terror Harry had just experienced; experienced because of this… This man had wanted to attack this boy, his son; he had wanted to destroy their world; again.

"Harry, calm down," Lupin suddenly gripped his godfather's shoulders. "Go with your son. I shall stay here. Harry, do you hear me?!"

He heard. He heard and he snapped back to reality; surfaced from his hatred; and saw his son's eyes. The pure, innocent gaze of a child, who had stopped his own death.

"All right," Harry exhaled and walked toward Albus, without looking back. He caught the boy in his arms and carried him into the house, his arms probably painfully tight around his son's slim body. He could have lost Al; like he had Ginny. Once again, he was too late. If it wasn't for Al's strange gift, what would he do? How would he live if he could no longer see those green eyes?

"Harry, what happened?" Mr. Weasley came out to meet him.

"I am taking Albus. The Aurors will be here presently; they have work to do there, in the garden." Harry walked through the living room, and walked out to the gate without letting go of Albus. He saw Zig at once and waved at his co-worker. "There is a werewolf in the garden. Lupin is with him; he will tell you everything. I need to take my son home."

He Apparated onto Hermione's front porch. He walked in the house and only there he could finally draw breath. It was as though he exhaled icy vapor.

Albus was not at all scared. He smiled at his father and walked into the living room, where he immediately took a candy out of the bowl and began to unwrap it.

Harry sat down next to him.

"How do you feel, Al?"

"A little tired," Albus stuffed candy in his mouth and began chewing it, leaning back against the couch cushions.

"Tell me, son, what happened in the garden? Where did the dog come from?" Harry cautiously began to question Albus.

"I don't know. Tom and I were playing, I was trying to drag a gnome out of his hole, and then the dog appeared." Albus fished another candy out of the bowl.

"And what did that dog do?"

"It wanted to attack me…" the boy answered simply, wiping his sticky hands on his sweater.

Harry noticed unexpectedly that his son clothes looked tattered. One pant leg had a hole at the knee. _Oh, Ginny, Ginny, how are we to live without you..? Do we need a house elf?_

"And what did you do?"

"I was scared," Albus sat up so that he could see his father; there was a strange fire in his eyes. "And then I remembered what Gramps said, that I always had to look fear in the eye and it would back off. And so, I started looking the dog in the eyes. And I saw a lot of stuff there. Many coloured pictures. And I asked it not to touch me…"

"Stop, wait a second, Al," Harry shook his head. "What Gramps? Grandpa Arthur?"

"No," Albus returned to his usual absent-minded state. "No, Daddy, Gramps from my dreams."

"From your dreams?"

"Yes. Remember, I told you about my battle with the dragon? That's when that Gramps gave me the Drooble's bubble gum, and I tossed it right into the dragon's jaws," Al jumped a little and looked at his father excitedly with his green eyes. "And once, we sneaked into a candy shop and ate almost a full barrel of lollipops together…"

"Al, Al! Wait. With whom did you sneak into the candy shop? When?" Harry felt as if one of them had gone insane.

"Well, I told you. With the Gramps from my dreams. We are always doing something like that when I am sleeping," Harry had never before seen his son so animated. "When Mummy died, he came to me and was telling me about her. How she fought the evil wizards, how she played Quidditch, and how she was once captured by a Dark wizard, but she didn't give up and struggled to the end…"

"Albus, and what does this Gramps look like?" Harry was gasping for air, totally unable to believe his ears.

"Well, like a Gramps," the boy shrugged. "A very old Gramps. And he is very kind. And merry. And he likes lemon drops and chocolate frogs…"

Harry closed his eyes tiredly, trying to understand what was going on. _All right, let's leave Albus' dreams for Hermione; let her figure out who was this Gramps_; although he also had a pretty good idea who would come into his son's dreams to fight dragons with bubble gum.

"All right, Albus, you looked the dog in the eyes and asked him not to harm you," Harry distracted his son from taking another candy. "And it obeyed you, right?"

"I guess. I saw many-many pictures and felt that he no longer wanted to bite me. Because he was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Himself. He was afraid of himself and what he was being forced to do."

"How did you understand that, Al?" Harry got down from the couch, and squatted before his son, holding his shoulders.

"I saw the pictures. I knew what they meant. It was just like once before, in my dream…"

"A dream again?" Harry's arms fell helplessly to his sides.

"Well, a couple of times, recently, Gramps came and he wasn't alone. He brought a man in black with him," Albus touched his father's scar with an innocent smile, but he didn't say anything. He always liked touching that scar, ever since he was a baby.

"A man in black?" Harry sat down on the floor, leaning against the coffee table. Apparently, he obstructed the view of the candy bowl from Albus, because his son frowned slightly. "And then what?"

"This man showed me pictures and asked me to describe them…"

"What pictures?" Harry was on the verge of laughing hysterically. _What a bizarre situation!_

"I don't remember. There were all kinds. Fear. Happiness. Pain. Love…" Albus was picking at the hole in his pants. "The man in black kept trying to leave, but Gramps wouldn't let him; he forced him to show me more pictures… Then we played with them, moved them around, and divided them into good and bad ones… That was interesting. And Gramps was very pleased afterwards."

"Why did you not tell me about this before, Al?" Harry asked gently, squeezing his son's hand.

"I don't know," the boy shrugged his thin shoulders. "You never asked…"

"Is that what you did with the dog? Played with the pictures?"

Albus nodded:

"It was easy. Only there was someone else in there. I couldn't divide the pictures into good and bad as the man in black had shown me. Someone was in the way… And the dog was scared."

"What was there, Albus? This is important…"

"I don't know… Daddy, I honestly don't know," the boy's eyes suddenly widened and he moved closer to his father. "Someone scary. Dark and scary. He wouldn't let me find the good pictures."

Harry hugged his son, stroking his black hair.

"Everything is all right, my darling, it is all over. You are home, with me. I will never let you anywhere without me. You will never have to look your fear in the eye again. Do you believe me?"

Albus nodded, putting his arms around his father's neck:

"You know, I asked Gramps from my dreams to bring Mummy… But he said that he couldn't do it."

"Were you upset?"

"Not very much," Albus sat up straight, but he did not remove his hands from his father's shoulders. "Gramps showed me pictures with Mummy in them; and with you. You were little. And Hermione. And Uncle Ron. Many pictures."

"What were these pictures about?"

"I don't know. But they were good, and I felt good, and Gramps was smiling. His smile was very sad though. It seems to me that he was also very sad that Mummy died." Al rubbed the back of his neck, making Harry smile faintly.

"Yes, probably," he agreed. "Let's go eat something other than candy, shall we? And then we will go up to your room and read."

"Okay! Will there be bubbles?" Albus jumped to his feet at once. And Harry nodded, watching his son's face once again become carefree and a little absent-minded.

And so, he left his son in Hugo's room, after the boy had played his fill with the bubbles and fallen asleep, his little fist under his cheek. Harry kissed him goodnight and went downstairs.

All candles had gone out and the living room basked in the moonlight. Harry stepped over to the window and saw the yellow discos. The full moon. _How is Ron?_ Harry hoped that he and Hermione would pull through everything, so that they, at least, would be happy!

Seeing the full moon always made Harry think of Lupin; of Sirius; of his parents; of Snape; of Dumbledore.

_Damn! Dumbledore! What games is this wily wizard playing now? And how is it even possible?!_

Harry remembered what Dumbledore's portrait in McGonagall's study said. _New riddles. Help will come in time. Love against hatred. Love, not revenge._

Yet, was there love in Harry's heart right now? Yes, surprisingly, there was. There was tender love for his children. Love that gave him strength to go on living; living without Ginny.

He was looking at the yellow lunar discos, unaware of tears running down his cheeks. Because before, SHE had always been next to him; she would come and hug him, her embrace protecting him from the abyss in his soul. Now she was gone, and the abyss was about to swallow him. Yet, he would not succumb; because there was love in his life. There were the green eyes of his son, asking to protect him from something dark that the boy encountered today for the first time.

Harry wiped tears from his face and went to his room, feeling utterly exhausted. As he was drifting off to sleep, in Hugo's room, a happy smile flitted across the face of Albus Severus Potter.


	52. Part VI - Chapter 4 - Theodic

**_Chapter 4. Theodic._**

_Mockery of fate. Hogwarts games. A repeat of history. What to call it?_

He was pacing aroung his room. Eight steps in one direction. Eight in the other. The sound of footsteps in familiar darkness; measured steps; measured thoughts.

He had not been mistaken before. He had had no place at Hogwarts; before; but now he did. Yet, what a joke of fate!

Theo stopped; precisely in the middle. His thoughts flowed measuredly; as did the minutes.

_Time. Just several minutes. The Magic of Time. A few minutes earlier – and nothing would have happened._

He shouldn't have lingered there. He shouldn't have rested his eyes on HER. But he stopped to admire. For the first time, he was admiring a girl; as an esthete; as an artist; as a sculptor.

Only a few minutes. And her singularity; her back; her hair; the turn of her head; her arms; her fingers, holding a quill.

He was admiring. _Can a girl really be like that?_ Like what? Theo couldn't find a definition. For the first time, he was at a loss for words. He could only admire.

Minutes. If only he hadn't spent those minutes there! It seemed only time.

Theo was sure – it was all mockery. Mockery of the past.

An empty corridor. The boy had not expected an encounter; neither did Theo. Theodic was not ready – for the first time ever.

They both weren't ready.

The boy from Harry Potter's memories; a student; an arrogant teenager; with a smirk on his face.

The boy from his father's memories; a student; an arrogant teenager and his friends; with a smirk on his face. Indignity. His father's in-dig-ni-ty. His father's helplessness; helplessness against force.

Theo was not helpless. He could answer – with force.

He didn't hear the words the boy said; the same boy. The boy who took the red-haired girl from his father. The boy who made his father lonely; cruel; great.

Everything merged together; because Theo was not ready.

Was it Potter's wand that urged him on? No. He never even saw it. He only saw the smirk on Potter's face. The same smirk. The same insolence in his eyes. The same contempt.

Theo lost control; for the first time in many years. He was once again Theodic; the student; and the son. He was avenging himself – and also his father.

_Revenge is fair. It is the answer to the harm caused; the re-balancing of power. It is just._

Only a moment; Yet, that was all it took.

_Fate's joke. Turning back the clock._

_James Potter and his friends. Father. The red-haired girl, standing up for him. Force against helplessness._

_James. She called him that. She rushed to his defense. The girl from Harry Potter's memories. The red-haired girl. Lily._ He was almost certain – her name would be Lily. She defended James Potter – the weaker; the more vulnerable.

Theo's father was the weaker one; but he had the red-haired girl. He had something to lose.

Theo was strong. But he didn't have anyone. Nobody would have come to his defense.

No one ever defended him. Children at school feared him; called him a bastard. And he knew how to revenge himself; rarely, but surely. Everyone shunned him. He got used to it. He had nothing. And he had nothing to lose.

Her eyes: not so green; not so beautiful. Yet they held the same pain. The same disdain.

She was right. His foe was but a boy. _But is he truly a foe? And is he responsible for the past?_

He began pacing again. Thoughts were lining themselves up neatly in his head.

He had lost control.

A trick of time. A trick of fate. They crossed paths once again; Potter and Snape; and Lily. Only now Theo was the one who had power; and James – the red-haired girl.

History made a turn. A joke.

Someone knocked at the door. Three steps. Xenia Verdi stood in the doorway.

"May I?"

He nodded. Five steps. He was looking at her.

_Talented girl._ He had taught her. _Inquisitive. Calm. A tad haughty._

"Healer Theo, tell me, why?"

Theo crossed his arms. _She is anxious; upset. Must be because of Potter._

"Why did you do this to him? What could have possibly happened to make you do THIS?!" Coldness in her eyes, in her voice; coldness directed at him. "You were the one teaching us that Legilemency is a gift that must only be used for the good of people. You said so yourself."

Disappointment. It was there, in her voice.

They spent a lot of time together at the Academy. Xenia. A Healer of Souls. A rare specialty. Almost ephemeral. Yet, she had the gift; and predestination. That was why Theo singled her out, honed her ability, taught her.

_Disappointment. Violation of trust? Yes, probably._

"Why are you not responding?" still the same coldness. "Do you even know what you have done?"

_A note of despair? Xenia, what is wrong with you?_

"He buried his mother a week ago. He very narrowly lost his father. His cousin barely escaped abduction." Concise account of the facts. She always knew how to set aside her emotions. "It took us two weeks to bring him and Lily into some sort of adequate condition (_Her name is Lily, after all_). And you erased all that with a flick of your hand.

Theo didn't say anything. He was simply looking, evaluating. Why speak? What could be said but mere platitudes? She didn't expect that from him. Nor did she want to hear excuses. She simply wanted to understand.

"We – and you – were taught that a Healer must always think first of the good of the others, not our own. That whatever our feelings are, we have to help – not harm. Theo, have you really changed so much?"

Theo blinked.

"Girls to Potter's defense."

She shook her head sadly. _What did she expect to hear? Who knows?_

Theo's arms dropped. He turned toward the window. One step.

The window overlooked the park. A bench. Sitting on it was – SHE. Her hair hidden under a beret. No gloves. A blond boy kissing HER. Kissing gently; his arms – around her fragile shoulders. They were hidden behind the trees; but Theo could see them. He was admiring; admiring her easy movements.

"Healer, how can he be helped?" her voice was firm.

He turned around. Her eyes were full of ice. She used to look at many people like that back at the Academy; but never at him. Her eyes were always full of trust for him; and of curiosity. Interesting gift. Enviable tenacity.

He used to study her once; not admire, but study. She mastered Occlumency easily enough; but not Legilemency. She refused to disturb other people's minds. She wasn't afraid of it – she simply refused. There was something special about that. She wanted to heal souls – heal, not disturb.

He wanted to heal bodies; and minds. He was successful. Six patients. Each one was cured; grateful. All but one. A wizard with a memory disorder. Twenty five years spent in a restricted room; surrounded by autographs. He had a naïve smile of a youngster, that old man. Did he want to be cured? Theo didn't know that. It was his job to heal. And he cured. The smile stopped being naïve; it lost its youthfulness. The wizard refused to leave the hospital.

"You know how to help him," Theo returned her cold stare.

"I shall not act like you," cold voice, again; and contempt. Theo knew – she had not changed. "Thoughts hurt too much for someone to go meddle in them all the time. You said so yourself."

She remembered his words. So many of them. Except for those that he only spoke to her once; because he believed they were true.

"Thoughts cure the mind," Theo repeated those words now. "They cannot cure the soul. Nothing can."

"It is not true," she answered now, just as before. _She must have remembered._ "A soul can be healed. Even _yours_, Theo."

She left, softly shutting the door behind her. Theo stared at the place where she had stood. Xenia. The Healer of Souls. She might succeed. But not with him.

Theo turned away. Eight steps to the door. Eight steps back.

A reversal of fate. This time it would be different, though. Because _he_ was different.


	53. Part VI - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

_**Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.**_

His hands had been itching to kill somebody since morning. And he didn't even know, whom.

It was breakfast time, and Xenia and he were observing James. The Gryffindor was not eating. Even when Lily fixed a plate and handed it to him, he wouldn't touch the food. His face was as white as the despised milk, peering at Scorpius from the jar.

Malfoy would have cursed that oakum-haired goblin were it not for Xenia, who was practically hissing at him while clutching at his wand hand.

_Vile… spiteful… arrogant… bow-legged… beak-nosed… smug… unscrupulous… cowardly… goblin!_

Scorpius watched Potter get up from the table, throw his backpack listlessly over his shoulder and wander away. Malfoy glanced at Xenia, both of them stood up (_damn, rabid thestral bite you, didn't even get to eat a decent breakfast!_), and headed after their friend.

James sat limply at his desk in Flitwick's classroom. Scorpius sat down next to him, slamming his textbook on the desk. No reaction from the Gryffindor.

Flitwick walked in, as usual, happy with himself, as if every time he entered the classroom he was surprised to see so many students show up. He promptly instructed Emma Thomas to take the box from his desk and distribute the mice in it to the students. Scorpius snorted – the girl was not afraid of the cute caudate rodents. Was Lily? He would need to ask her later.

Potter was barely showing any signs of life as he watched his mouse, not even making an attempt to make it crawl out of the box, let alone apply a simultaneous spell to it.

"Potter, are you sure you are in the right classroom? Going beyond the limits of your mind is something you do in the Northern Tower…" Malfoy got his mouse up in the air, causing it to squeak piteously, and then silenced it immediately with the _Silencio_ spell. He then let go of the poor creature – right in the path of the Ravenclaw girls. They jumped and squeaked, quite mouse-like.

James nodded, as if acknowledging Malfoy's words, which the latter liked even less.

_Kill, kill this hairy goblin, who had turned Potter into a mummy. A ghost of Hamlet's father, hippogriff trample him!_

"Potter," Malfoy glanced at his friend, who was watching his mouse with an odd air of serenity, "I don't think that it," the Slytherin picked the animal by its tail, "shall return your affections, even if you look at her with all the passion you can muster. I think brunets are not her type…"

The Gryffindor nodded again, his lips twisting slightly. _Right… this is a tough case._ Malfoy returned James' mouse to the box, narrowing his eyes.

"And if I were to tell you that Slughorn has a thing for boys, would you also merely nod?" James, of course, nodded. "And even if I tell you that I found Xenia in bed with…"

"Not funny, Malfoy," the Gryffindor said wanly, which made Scorpius want to give that brooding shaggy cretin a good thrashing. _And why not, indeed?_ In all his hefty arsenal of shock therapy…

Malfoy looked around him – Flitwick had just turned his back to them, looking at a Hufflepuff's ridiculously fruitless attempts to keep a bucking and squealing mouse in the air. He then took his textbook and struck Potter over the head with it. Not to hurt, but to make him fully feel the gravity of the moment.

Caught off guard, James knocked face first into the box with the mouse.

"Oh, maybe if you kiss her, she _will_ return your affections…" Scorpius watched the Gryffindor slowly turn his head and look at him. _Damn, Horntail's ass! What a hopeless stare! Death to that slug! Death by quartering, after a good writhing from a strong Cruciatus curse – for this look in James' eyes._

Just then, as fate would have it, Flitwick materialized at their table…

"So, Mr. Potter, please show us your mastery of the simultaneous spells," the Charms Professor squeaked.

"Professor Flitwick, I have a terrible headache," Potter said in a colourless voice. "May I go see Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes, of course, go ahead…" Flitwick replied, a little concerned, looking at deathly pale James walk past him.

Scorpius watched his friend leave the room and, as soon as Flitwick momentarily turned away, he jumped to his feet and ran out of the classroom after James.

"Mr. Malfoy!" he heard behind him, but the Slytherin didn't care. He had a week of detentions left anyway – one day more, one day less didn't make a difference.

Scorpius ran out into the hallway and stopped for a moment, unsure of the direction that Potter had taken. The hospital wing was out of the question, or he was no longer a Malfoy.

The Slytherin darted toward the stairs, thinking that the Gryffindor once again hid behind the tapestry on the third floor. However, he was not there. Malfoy went up to the Room of Requirement – wrong again. _Where is he? Did he really have a date with Madam Pomfrey?_

Suddenly, Scorpius bumped into the Gryffindor ghost who was aimlessly loiter about the hallway. Not even a decent ghost – a shame to all other ghosts; not that beggars could be choosers…

"Hey, have you seen Potter?" Malfoy approached the silvery remnant of someone's wasted life.

"Are you talking to me?" the ghost glanced back, looking at the Sytherin in slight surprise.

"Is there anyone else here? Have you seen Potter?"

Nearly Headless Nick frowned:

"Ever been taught manners, young man?"

"When I need that, I'll know whom to ask!" Malfoy narrowed his eyes impatiently. "For the third time, have you seen Potter?"

"If it did not concern a student from my House, I would not speak with you at all; but since your questions are aimed at helping…"

"Briefer, man!" Scorpius cut him off. "Have you seen him or not?!"

"The young Mr. Potter was heading for the Astronomy Tower, just as I was gliding past him. It appeared to me that…"

Malfoy, however, was no longer listening to this transparent misunderstanding – we was running up the steps, then down the hallway, then up the steps again. He was practically gasping for breath from climbing the steep stairs.

James sat with his back pressed against the parapet, his face buried in his knees. His hair blew in the wind.

Malfoy shivered as he entered the landing.

_Death to long-haired goblins, a horrible death, and a slow one!_

Scorpius walked over to his friend and sat down, silently. He couldn't speak like Xenia; and James wasn't responding to jokes today.

"James, what did he do?" Malfoy finally broke the silence. He needed to know the reason for killing that…

The Gryffindor did not respond as he looked up. Tears rolled down his pale cheeks; same as on the night they were told about the murder of their mother. No, this was not the same. It was worse; because James suddenly put his arms around his head and covered his ears, while banging his forehead on his knees. Malfoy gripped his friend's shoulders to prevent further self-torture.

"What are you doing? Have you lost your marbles completely? Enough!" the Slytherin forcibly unclasped James' hands from his face and looked into his eyes; eyes, full of terror. "Stop it! What did he do, made you a nutter?"

"No," the Gryffindor shook his head. "No. He made me relive everything again… I wasn't ready, you understand? _Then_ I was ready! I knew that it would be hard. Now I wasn't ready, you know? I wasn't ready for this!" James' eyes were huge as he looked through his friend. "Her scream 'Momma!'. And father's wailing… I heard it all again. And now I can't get it out of my mind!"

"James, calm down," Malfoy forced his friend to look at his face. "It's memories; it's only memories. You have dealt with it once; you can do it again!"

"Have you ever heard your father howl with grief, Scorpius? Have you seen him lie by your mother's grave, beating his head against the ground?" James was rocking a little, breathing heavily. "You didn't hear Lily's scream. But I did; and still do; constantly; over and over again…"

Malfoy felt someone's hand on his shoulder. He turned around – Xenia. The Slytherin nodded and stood up, letting her kneel down next to James. She didn't speak; she merely put her arms around him, rocking him a little. He calmed down, submissive.

"Close your eyes, Jim," she whispered quietly, as Malfoy stood helplessly a step away from them. "Close them. Feel my hands. You can feel them, can't you?"

"Yes," James said obediently, his face buried in her shoulder.

"All right, you are feeling them. They are warm, aren't they? They are not hurting you… Are they?" James shook his head. "Now concentrate on them, feel them. Don't think of anything else, ok?"

The Gryffindor must have nodded. Malfoy stood with bated breath. She was a witch, all right. Her voice mesmerized; and her hands must be mesmerizing also. Potter calmed down, as if lulled by her meaningless words.

"And now imagine a place where you were happy, any place," Xenia stroked James' shoulders and back, rocking his gently. "Imagine it. Maybe there is someone else there…"

"You," the Gryffindor breathed, and Malfoy decided that it was time for him to vamoose. He retreated quietly, trying not to attract attention to himself; slipped out the door, and started down the stairs. Xenia must have run out of the classroom after he did. It was a good thing – because he could not talk James down this quickly.

However, he would be quite able to slowly and painfully beat down the ugly git who made Potter suffer so.

Malfoy came down from the tower just as the bell tolled. _Where to look for this goblin? At Madam Pomfrey's; or at Slughorns._

The hospital wing was empty. Scorpius headed for the dungeons next. He never got there though, because he saw Lily Potter and Greg Gregory in the hallway near the Arithmancy classroom, cozily leaning over a book.

Scorpius made a quick wave with his wand – the book jumped, thumping Gregory soundly and squarely on the forehead. The other looked in surprise at the attacking textbook, while Lily looked up astutely and immediately saw Malfoy. Saying something quick to Gregory, she headed toward Scorpius, who deliberately walked around the corner.

"You didn't have to hit him," Lily remarked, once she caught up with the Slytherin. "He simply asked for help with a formula…"

"I see… Do they learn the same things in the fifth year as in the sixth?" Scorpius leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets.

"No, he asked about a formula that is taught in the fourth year," the girl smiled.

"Yes, well, Gregory is to be pitied; his memory is shorter than Flitwick's legs," Malfoy chuckled as Lily smiled. He then looked in the end of the hallway and stood up straight, pulling out his wand. The Gryffindor also looked in that direction and stepped toward Scorpius, taking his wand hand in hers.

"Stop, don't," she asked, looking into the Slytherin's eyes that now became steely grey. "Please…"

"Lily, you did see what he did with your brother, didn't you?" Malfoy didn't take his eyes off the retreating black-clad figure.

"I beg you," she whispered, putting her hands on his chest and lifting her face to his. "He scares me. Don't mess with him…"

"He scared you?!" Scorpius got even more riled up, but she kept him put by wrapping her arms around his neck, rising on her tiptoes.

"Don't leave, please," she asked quietly, looking straight into his eyes. Steel became ice, and then – liquid silver, when she pulled him down to her and timidly kissed his cool lips.

And he didn't leave. He would never have left at all, but for the bell ringing just then, summoning students to the classrooms.

"Promise me," she pulled away, but didn't unclasp her arms from his neck, "promise me that you won't take your revenge on him. Scorpius, I am begging you. This man is not worth it… Promise me."

He frowned, but looking in her eyes, he could not resist her. He nodded – fighting himself, fighting his very essence that demanded at the very least the blood of that slug. Still, he nodded, causing the Malfoy half of his soul howl in protest.

She smiled, touched her lips to his cheekbone in a quick kiss, turned, and walked down to her classroom. And Scorpius remained standing in the middle of the hallway, still gripping his wand. Then he waved it in exasperation, and the suit of armor in the nearby niche clanked loudly.

_Malfoy, it is time you changed your last name. Scorpius Potter. Is suicide in order, before it is too late?_ With this deep thought, the Slytherin headed for the Flitwick's classroom, hoping to at least be able to take it out on a mouse.


	54. Part VI - Chapter 6 - Hermione Granger

**_Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley._**

What a long night it was. A long, scary, difficult, moonlit night…

She didn't know how many hours she had spent sitting on the floor, by the door, after Ron roughly pushed her out of the room. He pushed her out, locked the room from the inside, and sealed it with spells.

Her wrists were not aching anymore, although Hermione knew – there would be bruises there, come morning. For the first time in many years Ron really hurt her.

And she wanted to be with him this night; wanted to cradle his head, hand (paw?) in hands, so that he wouldn't be alone with the full moon and the pain, which had to have come along with the transformation.

Hermione uttered another sob, although it would seem that she had already cried all her tears. He didn't want her to stay. He gripped her hands – for the first time, so forcefully that she cried out in pain. He pushed her out of the room. He locked the door. And Hermione could no longer share with her husband what he was about to experience for the first time.

She sat on the floor with her back against the locked door. First she strained to catch sounds, but there were none. Ron must have put the _Muffliato_ spell over the room. He separated himself from her. He pushed her out of his life, even if only for one night.

Hermione attempted to lift the spell; she failed. This house didn't not obey her wand. And she had no other choice but to wait, hoping that the Wolfsbane Potion would make Ron's ordeal a little easier.

He was alone; alone with his pain; alone with his fear. And he didn't let her share that with him. Before, they had always shared everything. Today he denied her that.

Hermione wiped her cheeks, just to do something with her hands. Her head felt heavy; her hands trembled at little.

His eyes; never had she seen such a look in her Ron's, her beloved, tender, loving Ron Weasley's eyes. Even when he was angry (like in their sixth year at Hogwarts, when she sought enchanted birds on him); even when he was jealous (when he left Harry and her alone in the tent, in the last year of the war against Voldemort); even when he raged (when she and Harry talked in whispers about their work) – never had he have such a cruel, merciless and yet such a doomed, resigned look in his eyes.

Hermione forced herself to take deep breaths. _Need to think logically; to set feelings aside._ In the recent years she had begun to follow their lead all too often. More frequently she would start at her thoughts; or at the emotions that would wash over her. _Not now. You cannot fall into pieces now, just when your family needs you the most; your friends; Ron; Harry._

Strange as it might seem, in all those years of marriage with Ron and friendship with Harry, she never learned to separate them in her mind. Ron; and, immediately, Harry; in that order; Ron; Harry. She knew that both needed her – Ron more so, Harry less. But they needed her.

Harry never showed it; he never asked for help; he always accepted it though; always. And Ron always accepted it; but he always asked for it, which made him different from his friend. Ron knew that she would help; that she would understand; that she would always be there for him.

_Why then?! Why did he act so differently today?! He has changed…_

She felt it. And not only felt – knew. He changed. He lost himself. And he was afraid of it. Ron was afraid of himself. And he pushed her away – out of the same fear. He. Feared. Himself.

Did Hermione fear him? No. She was not afraid of him. She was afraid FOR him.

The woman shifted slightly. Her ribs creaked a little in pain. This reminded her of their intimacy. It was the first time he was so rough and careless. His hands had always been strong; but they were also tender and loving. And now she had bruises on her ribs from his fierce embrace; from her Ron's embrace – a different Ron, but still hers.

Hermione tried to think logically, putting aside emotions. Yet, this had been difficult for her to do lately; because there was too much of everything: a lot of happiness; a lot of love; a lot of passion; a lot of worrying; a lot of jealousy; too much… And then there was a lot of fear; and grief. Too much for the always logical Hermione Granger. She changed.

Could books help in everything? No, she realised that back in school. Could she use her superior knowledge and skills to change the course of events, to fix errors, to avoid missteps? Almost never. What had become the center of the well-read Gryffindor's life after Hogwarts? Family; Ron; Harry; just like it was in school; but different. There was Ginny. Then the children came. There were family trips to the beach. Family – she and Ron, Rose and Hugo; and the Potters. There were children's parties. There were foursome outings at pubs; or twosome: her and Ron, her and Ginny, Ron and Harry.

_Ron. Merlin, what happened to you?! How are you? What are you feeling? And why?! Why did you toss me so easily out of your world?!_

The edge of the lunar disk peeked into the little window. _When will the morning come?!_ Her watch stopped, when Ron's grip smashed the dial. He broke the watch that he gave her as present on their tenth wedding anniversary. He broke it…

She finally dosed off, leaning her head on her knees. In her sleep she was thinking about her husband, lying in his room, covered in fur, with claws and fangs. Was he thinking about her?

It was uncomfortable to sleep on the floor, but she lacked the energy to get up; or the desire. She wanted to be close to him; as close as possible.

She finally slept, a troubled and deep sleep following the night's ordeal.

The dawn came; but she didn't see it, her face buried in her knees. Then strong, unbelievably tender hands touched her; and they lifted her, pressing her against someone's strong chest. She snuggled against that chest, inhaling a familiar, dear smell. She felt safe and even more sleepy, now that she was in the protective hold; and not alone; not lonely.

Hermione drifted again to sleep, peaceful now that the warm hands had given her hope. And she slept, covered with a blanket, on a soft bed.

She woke up, bolting upright on the bed, tearing herself from the pretense of safety. A gloomy day looked at her from behind the window. _Daytime already!_

Hermione quickly tossed aside the covers, felt for the slippers, taken off her feet by someone (_Ron?_), and hurried into the hallway, toward the door that separated her and her husband last night. The door stood open.

Ron slept, wrapped in a blanket. Hermione came over to him quietly, looking closely around her. Everything seemed to be in order; no traces of a werewolf's rage.

Ron was pale; very pale. Dark circles around his eyes. Peaked face. Hands, lying helplessly atop the covers.

Hermione's heart tightened. She wanted to come over, to hug, but she couldn't bring herself to wake her husband after what he had been through. She simply stood and watched in relief.

She didn't notice the passage of time; she just watched. Then she turned and went downstairs to cook breakfast for him. He would be hungry when he woke up.

The kitchen, however, was awash in the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee and the light of numerous candles. Harry and Albus stood at the table, putting icing on something that looked like a partially digested cake.

"Hello," she smiled at the sight. Harry returned her smile, as Albus snatched the tube of icing out of his father's hands and continued his culinary exploits. "Do we have a special menu for breakfast?"

Albus smiled at her – a dimple appeared on his face that Harry never had. In other respects – the young Harry Potter was looking at her, minus the scar.

"Al decided that you and Ron could use a cake right now," Harry left his son's side and sat down at the table. "Want some coffee?"

"How long have you been here?" Hermione sat down on the chair next to her friend, gratefully accepting a cup from him. She watched Albus smear the icing over the top of what Harry had called a cake.

"A couple of hours," Harry looked at her knowingly. She must be a sight right now. _Sleeping on the floor…_ She suddenly felt completely awake. She was in the bed. And the door to Ron's room was opened. "You sat by the door all night, didn't you?"

It was Harry, then.

"Thank you," she said softly, looking at her friend over the top of the coffee cup.

"Hermione," Albus drew their attention to himself. The boy must have finished his culinary masterpiece and was now carefully doling it out onto the plates. "Which piece do you want: with more icing or more chocolate?"

"Hmmm… the one that is tastier," Hermione tried to be serious, but she couldn't. Albus always made her smile.

Al nodded and handed her the plate with the "cake" and even a spoon. He then gave a piece (if the gooey mess could be called that) to his father, and sat across from the adults, folding his hands expectantly. They had no choice but to begin eating.

It wasn't bad, really, except for being too sweet. What else could have been expected from Albus though?

"Very unusual," Hermione praised the boy, who nodded gravely. Convinced, apparently, that his mission had been accomplished, Al took a piece of parchment and a pencil from the table and began drawing, his lips pursed with the effort.

"Harry…" Hermione finally got up the courage to ask the question that tortured her all night. Harry didn't let her finish though – as always, he didn't need words to understand what she meant.

"I found him on the floor, sleeping peacefully. No injuries. He was simply very tired," Harry looked at her understandingly. "I think he will sleep for several more hours…"

"He didn't let me stay with him," Hermione said, looking hurt, trying to keep her voice down, so that Albus, engrossed in his drawing, would not hear her.

"And well he should," Harry drew closer to his friend. "You wouldn't have been of any help; you only would have eaten your heart out… I would have done the same thing…"

She almost said that he wouldn't have, yet she simply pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her wrists, so that her friend wouldn't see the bruises.

"Hermione…"

She looked up at him and saw Harry looking at his son, labouring over a piece of parchment. Only now it occurred to her that her friend brought his son to the house that he himself had been avoiding for so many years. And now Albus was sitting here.

"He was attacked by a werewolf last night," Harry answered the yet unasked question, and Hermione's gasped. She covered his hand with hers and didn't let go all the while he was telling her of what had transpired in the Weasley garden, and what Albus himself told him afterwards.

Silence fell, broken only by the rustling of the little Potter's pencil.

"But, Harry, could it be that Albus simply made it all up?" Hermione whispered, looking at the child. "You know how your son is…"

"I would have agreed with you, should I not have seen him pat a werewolf's back as if it were a pet dog," Harry answered in hushed voice. "What do you think it means?"

"Noncense…" she looked back at her friend. "Can a little boy be taught Legilemency, especially in his sleep? It is not normal."

"What is even more abnormal is that it was done by two wizards who have been dead for nearly two decades," Harry humphed, thrusting his free hand into his hair. "I don't know what to think about it… Why is it happening?"

Hermione was silent. Her thoughts had been filled with Ron, but Albus' story distracted her from her own problems. _Albus…_

"The Name Magic, Harry," she breathed, turning sharply toward her friend and letting go of his hand. He looked at her in confusion. "Remember, when you first decided to name your son Albus, you went to Hogwarts…"

"Yes, I asked Dumbledore, if it was all right with him," Harry nodded. "And he suggested for the middle name to be 'Severus'. Although Snape's portrait went a little askew at the that…"

"You see? Harry, it's all Dumbledore!" Hermione smiled slightly. "I know very little about this area of magic – it is barely studied at all – but they say that if a name of a real person is given to a child under the right circumstances, it can forge a connection between the two. I could look it up…"

"Thanks, but you have enough problems without me and Albus' dreams," now it was Harry's turn to take her hand. Hermione was only thinking of one thing – he shouldn't see the bruises. And the smashed watch. "What else can I do for you and Ron?"

"Nothing, you have done a lot already," Hermione smiled softly, looking into his deep green eyes.

"Papa, do you think that Uncle Ron will want some of my cake when he wakes up?" Albus' voice made the adults start.

"I think that he would want to eat something more…substantial first," Harry chose his words carefully as he stood up and walked over to him son to look at his drawing. "Who is this, Al?"

"This is me," he pointed, "and next to me are Lily and James, see?" Harry nodded as Hermione watched father and son. "This is Grandpa; he is standing next to _The Burrow_, smoking with the gnomes. Here is Teddy, he brought me lollypops. And here are you, Daddy, you see, I even drew your scar..?"

Hermione became interested as well. She walked over to the two of them and stood to the boy's other side. The drawing was child-like clumsy and naïve, but all those named were recognisable: a little boy in glasses; a red-haired girl; a tall boy with tousled black hair; a figure with candy in his hands; a crooked little house and next to it – a man with white (grey?) hair and a huge pipe. In the center of the drawing was Harry, with a lightning drawn over half of his face. And on either side of him…

"This is Momma, she is holding a Quaffle, you see? And this is you, Hermione," Albus looked up at his aunt and pointed to the figure on Harry Potter's right. "And in the back, you see, is the Gramps from my dreams – he has a long beard – and the man in black – he has nose like Bag's."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. She didn't know if her friend was thinking the same thing she was; yet, she averted her eyes, not ready to put her thought into words.

**All right, the next chapter actually features an old acquintance, who has not been seen in this story. Not necessarily a pleasant sighting, but an interesting one, nevertheless. :)**


	55. Part VI - Chapter 7 - Teddy Remus Lupin

_**Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin.**_

When Teddy felt happy and at peace, he thought about Marie-Victoire.

When he felt a little sad, he thought of his parents and his grandmother.

When he had doubts or worries, he went straight to his godfather.

Indeed, Lupin had been planning to visit with Harry today. However, he found Hermione's fireplace locked. Teddy realised that Harry must be at Grimmauld place, but he didn't want to go there. The thoughts of Ron and his misfortune made him feel depressed, and Teddy didn't like that. Therefore, he decided to do things his way: to wait for his godfather at the house, and enter it the traditional way – through the front door.

Lupin Apparated right to the gate of the cottage that had been home to Harry's friends these many years. He immediately saw a grim Auror in the yard. The man looked at Teddy closely, but seeing the young man enter the yard without an impediment and then open the door, decided that there was no reason to worry. Only the people who had been given permission by the owners could enter the house, despite any guises or potions taken.

There was a neat pile of candy wrappings on the coffee table in the living room – Albus must have gotten into Hermione's candy stash. Teddy took off his cloak and was about to go into the kitchen when the door bell rang.

The Auror guard stood in the doorway:

"A visitor to Harry Potter."

Lupin had seen this man by the fence, but he didn't know him. Still, Teddy thought he had seen that face before; maybe at work?

"I checked him – no traces of Polyjuice potion or bites," the Auror reassured Ted.

"Did he tell you his name?"

"No. But he said that he was an old classmate."

"All right, let him in," Lupin stayed in the doorway, waiting for the visitor. Lazy gestures; confident voice; slightly irritated face – probably due to the Auror's interrogation; spick-and-span cloak; shining shoes; a signet-ring; everything in this man spoke about his uncommon origins.

The man studied Lupin with narrowed eyes. Teddy smiled amiably:

"Hello. Harry is not in at the moment. Would you mind waiting for him?"

The guest merely nodded – curtly, efficiently, without a change of expression on the aristocratic face. He walked into the house past Lupin, as if deliberately trying not to touch anything, even with the hem of his cloak. Ted shrugged his shoulders and shut the door.

The guest sat down into an arm-chair without waiting for an invitation, crossing his legs.

"Sorry, what is the nature of your visit with Harry?" Lupin stood a little apart from this stranger, a little taken aback by his behaviour. Cold eyes looked through Teddy.

"A private matter," the guest spoke finally, the corners of his lips twisting into a disdainful smile.

"Would you like some tea or coffee?"

"I shall abstain," the stranger said curtly and simply stared at the ceiling. He didn't inquire about Harry's expected time of arrival, and didn't even bother to introduce himself. _A strange sort of fellow._

Lupin sat down on the sofa, entirely uncertain of how to behave. He didn't even know when Harry would return. How many hours are they to spend in this uncomfortable silence? That the guest intended to await Harry Potter to the end was written in every line of his arrogant, slightly elongated face.

Teddy was debating frantically on whether he should send Harry a message, so as not to have to endure this strange bloke's company indefinitely, when his godfather stepped out of the fireplace, followed by Albus.

"Harry, you have…" Lupin didn't finish, because his godfather's face froze at the sight of the man who was sitting in the chair, looking disdainfully first at Albus and then at his father.

"Albus, go to you room and play awhile," Harry asked, without even turning around, his eyes trained on his visitor. Lupin tried in vain to guess at who was this man, and why his godfather looked like he'd just seen something disgusting.

Al nodded and went up the stairs. Harry didn't move until the boy's footsteps died down on the second floor. Teddy looked from one man to the other.

"Didn't expect to see me, eh, Potter?" an unpleasant voice drawled, making Teddy yet again regret letting this man in the house.

"Hello to you too, Malfoy," Ted's godfather made a step toward the chair and also sat down, eyeing his enemy. Teddy finally understood who had come to their house. What would Draco Malfoy want with Harry?

Teddy leaned against the door-post in the kitchen doorway, in the shadows, but the two men seemed to have forgotten all about him. Lupin was not about to leave his godfather in the company of Malfoy the Elder at a time like this.

"Surprised, aren't you, Potter?" narrowed, cold eyes on a pale face. The surname that most people in the wizarding world said with pride and reverence came out of this man's mouth as if it was something foul and bitter tasting.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Lupin saw Harry's jaw work. "Why the hell did you come here?"

As Malfoy moved his shoulders in either disdain or displeasure, Teddy felt more and more dislike toward the man. Even had Ted not known the synopsis of his godfather's history with him, he would have had his wand out no matter what. It was quite clear from their guest's face that this was no friendly sojourn.

"I do not get any… pleasure from being in this… house," there was naked taunt in his voice and in the way Malfoy motioned around the room.

"Well, skedaddle out of here then," Harry chortled. "It's not like you have been invited."

"Of course, Potter, it would have pleased you more if we didn't see one another right up until the wedding, wouldn't it have?" Malfoy's grey eyes flashed, and he pursed his lips as he looked around the living room with open hostility. "Fancy becoming still more famous, don't you?"

"Malfoy, either speak plainly or get out of here," Harry asked wearily. Lupin noticed that his godfather indeed looked exhausted, as if he, too, had been affected by the full moon.

"Don't feign ignorance, Potter!" Malfoy's eyes were narrowed and his face twisted in suppressed anger. "You and your darling children are just itching to insinuate yourselves into a pure-blood family, aren't you? Why, tired of being half-bloods?"

Harry got to his feet; he was now towering over the sitting Draco Malfoy:

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy, before you have slugs coming out of it! Don't you dare touch my children!"

Malfoy also stood up; Lupin gripped his wand.

"In that case, let your nitwits stay away from my son! Or did you figure that you could just lure Scorpius into your daughter's bed and that would be all it takes? Mission accomplished? It won't happen, Potter, even if she is a hundred-times over his…"

Harry swung his arm and punched Malfoy right in the gut. Teddy's godfather stepped back from his doubled-over enemy and shook his hand. Teddy was no less furious than Harry Potter.

"Shut your trap, you bastard!" his godfather said through clenched teeth. "You are just as much of a Slytherin git as you ever were. Get out of this house or I shall show you every bit of skill I have been taught for crushing people like you."

Malfoy straightened up; his pale cheeks went blotchy red; his face was twisted with hatred.

"You think you are a tough guy, Potter, don't you? Then why weren't you there to save Weasley? Were you afraid to risk your perfect visage? I would have given half of the Malfoy fortune to whomever got us rid of yet another blood-traitor…"

Lupin reacted at the same moment as Harry raised his wand. Teddy saw that his godfather was angry enough to kill. He cried "Protego!", erecting a shield between the two adversaries, and then ran to Harry and grabbed his hand.

"Stop, Harry; he isn't worth it," Lupin turned to Malfoy. "Leave. Otherwise, I shall let him kill you; or do the job myself."

Malfoy was paler now than before he entered the house. He seemed on the verge of spitting at the two men; his eyes emanated hatred and disdain.

"Keep in mind, Potter: your daughter can lie with my son a hundred times over, but it will not change anything. Malfoys have always been using such…; using and discarding. I am even glad that this happened, because this is what you all deserve… you cannot sink any lower."

Lupin barely held his godfather back. Harry shot a spell at Malfoy, but the shield held.

"Get out!" Teddy opened the front door with a wave of his wand. "Or I shall call the Auror."

"And you, Lupin, are mere dregs of the wizarding society; you and your father the werewolf," Malfoy dropped a sheet of parchment on the floor, turned on his heels, and headed for the door. That was where the two spells caught up with him. The aristocrat fell flat on the floor.

Teddy and Harry were both breathing heavily, looking at the unconscious Malfoy. The wizard's hands and face were covered with small boils.

"You are too kind, Teddy," Harry said a little reproachfully to his godson, relaxing slightly.

"I think that two Stunning spells would have simply done him in," Ted approached the body lying by the door and saw the Auror hurrying toward them. "Carry this… man out of the yard and never let him back in."

Lupin closed the door and slumped against it; his hands trembled. _Should not have let this odd fish in the house._

Harry was trying to catch his breath, standing by the fireplace. His face was pale, making the scar on his forehead more prominent.

"Do you think this is true?" Lupin broke the silence, looking at his godfather's tense back. "What he said…"

"He would not have come, were it not true," Harry forced out, turning around. "He didn't pay me a visit even when he found out about the friendship between James and his son. That means that only something really serious would have prompted such a visit."

Lupin caught sight of the parchment Malfoy had dropped. He picked it up and scanned it. He gulped as he handed it to Harry.

"Read."

His godfather took the parchment and hurriedly absorbed the lines:

"_Dear Uncle Draco. I always assumed that I would be your son's bride. However, judging by what is going on, you have changed your mind. The entire school knows that your son Scorpius is sleeping with Lily Potter, that Gryffindor! He is always with her or with her brother. He even had a duel with James Potter over her._

_I do not wish to become a laughingstock; therefore, I feel it necessary to decline your invitation for Christmas. Respectfully, Priscilla Zabini."_

Lupin saw Harry clutch the parchment in his hand; his lips went white.

"Maybe it is just a rumor?" Lupin attempted to reassure Harry, but the other merely shook his head.

"I received a letter from McGonagall about a duel between James and Malfoy-junior. This hasn't happened since around their third year… Damn, can it be true?!"

"Don't panic yet," Teddy asked Harry, taking the letter from him and tossing it in the fire. "You have to hear Lily out before jumping to conclusions."

"I know," Harry put his wand in his back pocket. "And I shall do that right away. Will you stay with Albus?"

Lupin nodded.

"Please don't go anywhere and don't let anyone in – we have had enough visitors for one day," his godfather fastened his cloak and went out into the yard, apparently intending to Apparate into Hogsmead. Lupin silently wished Harry good luck and went upstairs.

Today was the first time he saw Draco Malfoy, his only remaining blood relative besides his grandmother Andromeda. And this man was his mother's cousin? _It is better to be alone in the world than to have a kinsman like this._ However kind and tolerant he always tried to be, Lupin hoped for the boils to linger on the sharp, arrogant face of Draco Malfoy.


	56. Part VI - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Chapter 8. The Potters.**_

"Rose, how are you doing?" Lily caught up with her cousin in the hallway, after the bell signalled the end of the afternoon classes.

Rose looked around; Lily had never seen her looking so sad.

"I am ok; I just hope that Dad will be all right," she cast a slightly haunted look at Lily. The girls stood to the side to avoid blocking other students in their dash from the classrooms to long-awaited freedom. "I wrote to Mum, but she hasn't replied yet."

"Rosie, Uncle Ron will be all right," Lily patted her cousin's arm, looking sympathatically at her pale face. "Hermione and my Dad are with him; they will do whatever it takes to make sure that he doesn't suffer and, especially, that he does not harm anyone else."

"I know," Rose pressed a textbook to her chest, staring down. "It's just that… Daddy is so helpless…"

Lily smiled slightly at Rose's definition.

"There is only one night left, and then everything will be over. He will manage, Rose."

Her cousin nodded, trying to look less vulnerable and nervous. She flinched, making Lily frown.

"Listen, Lil, you have had two 'Acceptable' in two days," her cousin got on her favorite horse – probably to avoid thinking about the family tragedies. Rose looked askance at Lily, expecting her to get angry.

"It is because I have so much homework; I haven't enough time!" Lily stepped aside to make way for a First Year, and felt a chill run down her spine. She looked up and immediately saw the wizard Mancilli, standing by the suite of armor far down the hall and looking in their direction. Aware that Lily had seen him, the man turned and walked away.

"Is it true that James got into a spat with the new Healer?" apparently, Rose saw Theodic as well.

"Who told you?" Lily looked at her cousin in astonishment. _Merlin, it is impossible to keep anything a secret in this castle!_

"Everyone is talking about it. A prefect from Slytherin also hinted at his close personal relationship with Xenia Verdi," Rose smiled faintly. "I don't understand, why does everyone take so much pleasure in spreading rumors?"

"They are Slytherins, Rose, what did you expect?" Lily replied mechanically, still feeling strangely uncomfortable after the latest encounter with that strange man.

"It would have sounded credible," the Head Girl grinned, "Had you not been walking around the school, holding hands with a Slytherin.

Lily blushed a little, hiding a smile from her cousin. This was the sixth day filled with something magical, something cozy, that made her feel warm inside. This must be what it meant to be in love, this desire to do something just because, to do something crazy, which had been quite out of character for Lily. And sometimes she felt sad – especially, when she had not seen her beloved, insufferable, yet so charming and tender Slytherin for a long time.

"I hope to never have a face like that," Rose chortled, but Lily merely blushed a little more.

"Rosie!" laughing, she nudged her cousin slightly in her side. Rose also laughed. "Well, it is not my fault that he is so… so…"

"Handsome, smart, kind, tender, passionate, etc., etc.?" the Head Girl prompted, biting back her laughter.

"No," Lily looked at Rose seriously. "Not like everyone else."

"Nasty, vicious, perverted, rude, selfish…"

"Rose!" Lily practically jumped in indignation, but realised that her cousin was merely teasing.

"Still, what is he like?"

"Special," the girl shrugged her shoulders. "Special. Well, you can understand that; after all, you have got Michael…"

Rose smiled skeptically:

"Michael is not special; he is just Michael. He is nice, kind, and caring."

Lily raised her eyebrows, not hearing much enthusiasm in her cousin's voice:

"I thought that you were in love with him…"

Rose moved her shoulders, unsure how to respond. She was saved from having to explain by Scorpius Malfoy who appeared to be searching for someone.

"There is your special one, craning his neck; must have lost someone," Rose nodded toward the Slytherin. He saw the two girls and headed for them, the usual aristocratically-cold grimace on his face. "All right, see you."

"Everything will be all right, Rosie," Lily patter her cousin's hand; Rose nodded and walked away from Scorpius, holding her backpack to keep it from sliding from her shoulder.

"Hello, Potter," Malfoy drawled lazily, leaning against the wall, two steps away from Lily. Other Seventh Years were passing by, glancing at the Gryffindor. "Have I missed the Prefects Coucil?"

"No," the girl followed a familiar Slytherin brunette with her eyes. "And where is my big brother? Or are you two taking a break from each other today?"

Scorpius grinned:

"He is having a therapy session with Healer Xenia Verdi," he coyly rolled his eyes, making Lily smile widely. This seemed to have been his goal. "Do you have any plans before dinner? A rescue mission? Feats of textbook reading? Prefect's duties? Gryffindor heroics?"

Lily waited patiently for him to stop cracking jokes.

"No, I was merely going to take my bag back to the tower and then go find a man whom I haven't seen since breakfast and ask if he wanted to take a stroll with me," she watched the ice in his eyes melt, which made her heart quicken. If she was asked what about his appearance she liked best, she would have easily replied that it were his eyes, when they enveloped her in their usually hidden silver. "I wanted to ask him why he wasn't at lunch…"

The corner of Malfoy's lips twitched, and he stepped toward her, taking in her tender face with a few freckles across the bridge of her nose. He couldn't help but reach out and touch them with his finger. She flinched in surprise.

"I suppose, he was simply sated with the spiritual fare," the Slytherin grinned, drawing back a little. The now empty hallway slightly echoed with his words. "And now go ahead and do what you planned."

"Do you have an idea where I can find this man?" Lily played along, taking a quiet breath to regain her focus.

"Well, I would not presume to know James' whereabouts," Scorpius drawled pensively. Her face reflected his smile. "As to me, I'll stay here awhile. A nice quiet place for pondering the declining ways of this world…"

"All right, then I shall leave you to your uneasy thoughts," she passed by him, brushing his hand with hers. She practically felt his eyes on her back, but she did not look back; she had to tilt her head forward a little, fighting the desire to do so. Still, at the end of the hallway she looked around – Malfoy was looking straight at her. Lily waved at him and hurried toward the Gryffindor tower.

Malfoy remained at the window, thinking that he would much rather overtake her, drag her to the first dark corner he could find, and kiss the breath out of her – all for the playful smile that she shot at him before disappearing. He had never thought that Lily Potter would know how to flirt with boys.

Yet, he failed to be left alone with his thoughts – and feelings. A short, plump Hufflepuff, whom Scorpius had had the honor to meet and even save from her own stupidity, appeared in the hallway.

Amanda – he couldn't remember her last name, but he couldn't have come up with anything more ridiculous even if he tried – was walking, her head bowed, and apparently, crying. Malfoy could always tell when girls, even little ones, were crying.

"Hey, Butterball, have you decided to take on a more decent name? 'Moaning Myrtle', for instance? Malfoy thrust his hands into his pockets, but didn't make a move toward the girl. She sobbed and raised her huge, teary eyes at the Seventh Year. Judging by her expression, she had no idea who Moaning Myrtle was. "So what's the occation for all this water? Has another date with werewolves been cancelled? Or have you received a love letter from Slughorn?"

Yes, the girl crearly had no sense of humour; she stared at Malfoy as if he was Filch dressed in a nightgown with pink teddy bear print.

"Why are you bawling, Butterball?" there surely could not a plainer way to ask. "Looking for an electric outlet again?"

"No," Amanda finally remembered that she could speak, sobbing and smearing tears over her cheeks. "There are no outlets here…"

"Really?" the Slytherin convincingly feigned surprise. "Wow! That's quite the news…"

The Hufflepuff even forgot to sob:

"Did you not know?"

Well, at least she stopped with the dampness.

"I didn't. I was standing here and thinking: I wish someone came by and told me why the hell couldn't I find a single rectangle with holes?! And there you come along, with this incredible piece of news… Are all Hufflepuffs so smart and wonderful?"

Amanda must have realised that the Slytherin was simply taunting her and was just about to weep anew, when they heard the approaching footsteps, and Lily came hurriedly toward them, dressed warmly for a walk.

"Scorpius, what happened?" the girl squatted before the crying Amanda.

"I had nothing to do with it," Malfoy frowned. "I am simply an innocent witness of this indecency. I was just trying to find out…"

"Amanda, why are you crying?" Lily looked anxiously at the girl. "Did someone treat you ill?"

Bullseye, Scorpius thought when the Hufflepuff nodded, sniffling.

"Who?"

"Charles from Slytherin… He called me… he called me… a Mudblood…"

Lily gasped and cast Malfoy a look that made him groan inwardly. Malfoys were simply not suited for restoring justice and punishing naughty boys.

"Amanda, you see, this is Scorpius Malfoy, from Slytherin. He will certainly speak with this boy, and the prefects shall punish him. Don't cry…"

Malfoy turned away so that Lily wouldn't see the expression on his face. He was simply ecstatic at the prospect of instructing the young Slytherin in good manners. _How like the Potters._

"If someone calls you that again, I give you permission to simply curse the offender," Malfoy chortled; he believed in the Slytherin way of problem-solving. "You know, Pimple Jinx, throwing up, boils on…"

"Scorpius," Lily cut her friend off, but he merely shrugged his shoulders.

Only ten minutes later they were finally able to leave the castle. Malfoy was frowning a little, holding Lily's hand.

"I shall soon become your family's designated problem solver," he grumbled as they walked farther into the park. "Keep in mind – I do not work for free; therefore, you shall have to pay for the promise that you have made the Butterball."

"Scorpius," Lily shook her head in disapproval, "it is terrible when children use words like these lightly…"

"Don't change the subject," Malfoy pulled her toward the trees, but for some reason Lily resisted. "What?"

"Dad…"

Scorpius turned around and also saw Harry Potter who was walking down the path from the castle gates. The Gryffindor started for her father, when Malfoy's hand grabbed her by her waist.

"Wait! What if this is not your father? We have seen him here once before. And, as you may remember, he was about to gnaw at your cousin."

Harry Potter must have spotted them – he turned and walked in their direction. Lily froze in indecision, unsure of whether to run for him or heed the cautious Malfoy's advice.

"Hello," Harry stopped a few steps away from the young people. He looked grim. "It is me, Lily. When you were five years old, you forced us to cut your hair short, because you wanted the same hairdo as James'. Do you believe me now?"

Lily nodded and flew into her father's arms. Scorpius greeted him.

"Shall I summon James?"

Harry Potter nodded, and he and Lily watched the Slytherin walk toward the castle.

"Daddy, what brought you here? Did something happen?"

"Let's go sit. There is something I need to speak to you about."

Lily, still eyeing her father anxiously, nodded, and the two of them went to sit on the bench by the park entrance.

"Dad, how is Uncle Ron?" Lily asked, sitting down.

"He is all right, but very weak," Harry looked closely at his daughter. "Judging by what I just witnessed, it is pointless to ask if you really are dating Scorpius Malfoy…"

"Meaning?" the girl asked warily, although her cheeks blushed. She didn't look away though.

"I had a visit from Draco Malfoy today. He delivered an angry tirade on how I simply couldn't wait for you to marry his son."

Lily didn't know what to tell her father. Her face promptly betrayed a multitude of emotions.

"Daddy, are you against my dating him?" this was the main concern of hers at the moment. "Are you angry?"

"I don't know quite how to take this," Harry confessed. "I realise that you are at the age when you begin to think about boys and dating… Yet, Malfoy did not mean simply your… romantic involvement. He had been told that you and Scorpius…"

"That we are sleeping together?" Lily helped her father, clenching her fists. "I shall kill James!"

"What does James have to do with it?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Because it was his brilliant idea, which he vocalized in front of the entire school, after which he proceeded to almost murder poor Scorpius…"

"I don't understand – is it true or not?"

"No, of course not, Dad!" Lily laughed, a little nervously. "Why, it has been barely a week since Malfoy and I are on speaking terms!

Lilly could practically feel her father's relief.

"But you do allow the idea of such a… close relationship, don't you?" Harry looked closely at his daughter.

Lily was taken aback and a little ermbarrassed. She hadn't thought about such a turn in her and Scorpius' friendship. Everything was new now and each day was fresh and joyful. She didn't know what lay in store and she didn't want to know.

"I don't know, Daddy," Lily pressed closer to him.

"Everything is that serious then?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders, holding back a smile.

"I like him very much. Perhaps, I even love him…"

Her father sighed heavily and put his arm around her shoulders.

"What are you thinking? Do you mind?"

"Even if I did, would it change anything?" Harry retorted. "I would have preferred my little girl to be only mine at least until she graduated. However, this is just my fatherly egotism speaking. I just hope that you don't rush into anything. And if Scorpius Malfoy hurts you, I…"

"You won't get a chance," the girl laughed, "because James will get to him first."

Harry hemmed. Lily looked him in the face – grim, still worried, he, nevertheless, attempted to listen to her and understand, like he always had. Right now Lily was more worried about the fact that Scorpius' father was not happy at the news of his son dating the daughter of Harry Potter.

James joined them then, breathless from running, and they spent time before dinner chatting, discussing Albus, Uncle Ron, and the other Weasleys. Then their father left. Lily wasn't sure their conversation reassured him.

After dinner James and Scorpius departed for their detention, while Lily trudged to the library, because a heap of unfinished homework she had accumulated spelled either bad grades or the weekend spent perusing textbooks.

Lily occupied her favorite table, but something prevented her from fully concentrating on her studies. She soon realised what it was – a group of Slytherin girls sat nearby and among them – the brunette that Lily once saw in the dungeon.

The Slytherins kept scowling at Lily and smirking ominously. The Gryffindor tried to ignore them, but she failed.

"Hey, Potter, how do you like being Malfoy's whore?" the brunette materialized next to her table, a newspaper in her hand. "Go ahead, enjoy him for the time being; I am not greedy…"

Lily's eyes narrowed as she prepared to respond, but the Slytherin simply tossed the paper on the table in front of her and walked away, grinning menacingly.

The Gryffindor slowly reached out and took the newspaper – the evening issue of "The Magical Chronicler". A man and a woman with cold unnatural smiles looked at her from the front page. The headline made Lily stiffen: "The Revelations of Draco Malfoy".

"_At a charity fundraiser at the Malfoy Manor, organized by Asteria Patricia Malfoy to help the St. Mungo's Hospital, her husband shared with us a few of his private designs…"_

Lily scanned the paragraphs until she came across the beloved name: _"…told us in confidence that at Christmas the engagement of Scorpius Malfoy and Priscilla Zabini would be formally announced. The two young people are Seventh Years at Hogwarts and, according to their overjoyed parents, are eager to make their relationship official…"_

Lily closed her eyes, struggling to breathe; simply breathe. The newspaper fell from her fingers. She jumped to her feet and dashed out of the library. She didn't care that the Slytherins were laughing behind her back. She didn't hear them behind the tinkling sound her heart made as it broke into pieces.


	57. Part VII - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**Part Seven. Teneto***

*Teneto - fiber, thread, vein; autumn web that flies over fields and forests

_**Chapter 1. James Potter.**_

He had never seen his best friend in such ire before. Malfoy was so pale that his face could easily rival Madam Pomfrey's hospital bed sheets.

The Slytherin had been raving for more than an hour now and not a single object in the Room of Requirement was left to be smashed, thrown, torn, or broken; aside from James himself, who was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall and looking at Scorpius flounce from corner to corner.

The Room of Requirement conveniently offered the Slytherin several more glass goblets, a pile of newspapers, and a couple of vases. Shreds of paper and shards of glass once again flew around the room; pieces of teacups and cardboard boxes bounced off walls. James could not imagine how long Malfoy would keep it up. He could understand how he felt though…

Scorpius hung in there for almost a week, until he finally realised that Lily was not going to speak to him. She wasn't speaking to anybody. Even to her brother. She slammed doors, hid, ran away, shouted, and glared.

James knew: his sister would not forgive until she learned the truth. How would she, though, if she avoided so much as being in the same hallway with Malfoy? She even called James a traitor for not killing his friend for his deceit. When James attempted to explain that Scorpius had had nothing to do with it, she simply turned on her heel and ran off. She wouldn't listen to Xenia. She refused to talk about it with Rose. She quarreled with Hugo. They thought about seeking Amanda on her, but James feared that the Hufflepuff would simply muddle everything and make it worse.

They spent three days trying to corral Lily into a corner and make her hear them out. On the fourth day, they wrote her a letter, which she appeared to not have bothered to read. On the fifth day, James offered to use the Stunning spell on her, but Malfoy flew into a rage and haughtily rejected the idea. Today the Slytherin was crushing everything in sight, after seeing Lily in the park with Gregory – they sat on the bench, talking.

The Gryffindor could not understand what was happening to his sister. She was head over heels in love with the man, so why wouldn't she hear him out? Why? James was sure that he would have tried to justify the one he loved, to listen, to try to sort things out, and not behave as though he had been betrayed, abandoned, broken-hearted…

Yes, his sister's heart was broken. At least, it appeared that way to Lily. However, James, after watching Malfoy for six days, raving and attempting to get back what he had lost, was certain that Scorpius loved Lily as well. He loved her – or he would not have been seeking to meet with her. He loved her – or he would not have refused to Stun her in order to make her listen. He loved her – because along with glass and paper, it was his very soul, proud and ensnared by his own feelings, that was now being torn into pieces.

All Scorpius' ruminations about never chasing after a girl, about being too proud, and about it being against his principles to explain anything to anybody – all of that went to hell on the first day, when Lily delivered him the hardest slap on the face that James had ever witnessed. She showed up, slapped him, and ran off, all without any explanations. It was not till later that Rose gave them the newspaper, from which they learned that Malfoy apparently had a long-standing and stable relationship with Priscilla Zabini.

If it wasn't for that sentence in the newspaper, James would have killed his friend on the spot. But it was precisely that statement about Scorpius' alleged affair with the frigid brunette that made the entire situation absurd. Malfoy had despised her since fourth grade, and mostly showed it by simply ignoring her. Who if not James would know with whom the Slytherin was in a relationship and what relationship that was? And it wasn't with that bitchy air-head, for sure.

A full tea-set, obligingly supplied by the Room of Requirement for Scorpius' destruction, chinked piteously. The Gryffindor only shook his head, hoping that Malfoy would pipe down before they were both buried under the rubble.

It was a pity that both Scorpius and his sister were too stupid and proud to accept Xenia's help. She could have brought Malfoy to his senses and possibly found a way to talk to Lily. But no, the Slytherin was so stubborn that he preferred to demolish everything in sight rather than listen to Xenia.

James was only able to come up with one idea – to Stun Lily without Malfoy's knowledge, and lock her and Scorpius in the same room. In order to do all that, however, he would have to catch Lily first and then to be certain that they wouldn't kill each other out of all the pain their misunderstanding had caused.

For six days Malfoy had been struggling with himself. James had seen it. The Slytherin was literally turning himself inside out, stepping over his Malfoy essence, trying to get Lily back. But she did not appreciate any of that. She thought that he had betrayed her.

And now it seemed that Malfoy had reached the limit of his patience. What would he do if he couldn't get what he wanted by using all the means at his disposal? James didn't want to even think about it because this was his sister! Silly, naïve, still so little Lil! She rushed into the Slytherin's arms, yet gave up so quickly upon the very first obstacle. Of course, an engagement was no small matter, and everything did look like Scorpius had ill-used her… But she could have at least heard him out!

The door opened in accord with the sound of a globe crushed underfoot, and Xenia entered the room, followed by Lily. James got to his feet. The sounds of debacle ceased.

James was taken aback by the sight of his sister standing quietly by the entrance. She wasn't looking at anyone, her hands hang limply at her sides, and she looked a little confused.

Xenia took James by the hand and pulled him away, leaving Lily and Malfoy alone in the room. To the Gryffindor's surprise, the girl raised her wand and, after whispering "Finite", locked the picture of hippogriff for one and a half hours, until dinnertime.

"How did you do this?" James looked at his girlfriend in surprise. "How did you manage to talk her into it?"

Xenia merely shrugged, and then walked down the hall toward the staircase. The Gryffindor caught up with her and took her by the shoulders.

"Xenia, how did you manage to bring her there?" the chap asked, a little anxious now, trying to catch her gaze. It was the first time he saw this lost expression on Xenia's face and… was it guilt?

"When a healer cannot succeed by using conventional methods, he or she can resort to extreme means," she seemed to be quoting from a textbook. "What is generally unacceptable under normal circumstances is allowed for a healer, provided that he or she is acting in the interests of the patient."

"Xenia, you are scaring me," James said, dropping his hands. He was no longer sure he wanted to know how the girl had managed to bring Lily to the Room of Requirement. She finally looked up – her eye bore an expression uncharacteristic of her. It was masterfulness. Something dark, that had touched the pure soul of a healer. "Please tell me that you did not do this…"

Xenia cast the Gryffindor a hard and somewhat defeated look, then bowed her head and walked on. But James could not leave her now. He caught up with her again and forced her to face him. His hands were shaking.

"Why? Was there no other way?!" he whispered right into her pale face. "Convince… Beg… Trick… Stun, if nothing else! But not like this…"

"It was not the Imperius Curse, James," the girl finally said, still avoiding looking him in the eye. He sighed with relief, trusting her word implicitly. But why was she then so… devastated?

"What was it then?" his voice softened.

She was silent, looking around her.

"Shall we talk somewhere else?" James suggested, and she nodded hesitantly. The two of them went to the Gryffindor tower (James did not feel particularly guilty before the other Gryffindors), and went up the stairs into Lily's room. James wisely deduced that his sister was not going to show up in the next two hours. He cast a Locking spell on the door and turned toward Xenia. She stood by the window, looking at the darkening sky.

James went to her and put his arms around her, pulling her close. She leaned her head back to rest on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Her face and lips had whitened.

"Will you tell me what upset you so? What have you done to make you suffer like this now?" he whispered in her ear, inhaling her fragrance.

She was silent for a moment, apparently making up her mind on whether to tell him or not.

"Once, a long time ago, I promised myself to never use this skill. I swore an oath and today I broke it," she said, stroking his hands, clasped at her waist.

"What skill is that, will you tell me?" he asked gently.

"Legilimency," Xenia said very quietly, squeezing her eyes shut. "I used Legilimency."

"Wow! You can do that?" James looked in surprise at her face, white in the moonlight.

"Theodic Mancilli taught me. He believed that Legilimency could be used to cure many illnesses, so we, the Academy students, were taught the Mental healing skills. The skills of penetration, concealing images, creating images…repression…subjugation… Not everyone could do it, but the students who are trained to be healers are usually very talented wizards. Many mastered these skills."

"So, you subjugated Lily using Legilimency?" James quietly rubbed his cheek against her hair, as if letting her know that he was close, that he understood and would not condemn her. Condemn her for what? Barely a week ago, a fully grown wizard used Legilimency on him, and without any noble cause to justify it.

"Yes. It was not hard to do with your sister because she wanted to be with Scorpius, but wouldn't allow herself to," Xenia said, as if apologizing to James.

"You didn't cause her… pain, did you?" he remembered his sensations after that goblin invaded his memory.

"No, I simply subdued her and brought her to the room," Xenia relaxed a little bit.

"Why had you vowed not to use Legilimency?"

She tensed again, but James only pressed her closer.

"Because I once saw what it can do…" her eyelashes fluttered, she opened her eyes and met the gaze of the Gryffindor's brown eyes. "I had just started learning Legilimency and the Healer Mancilli took us to the hospital to show us how it worked on a real patient. This patient was barely over twenty years old. His parents were killed during the war with Lord Voldemort… He lost his mind and no one was able to help him. Theodic had been working with this young man for several weeks and then he brought us to him."

Xenia inhaled with a gasp, as if trying to get up the strength to continue her tale:

"Healer Mancilli penetrated his mind, apparently assuming that it would be a usual healing session and the young man would begin to realise who and where he was and perceive it adequately; if only for a little while. But… but this time, his perception did not simply become adequate. He remembered; remembered his parents being murdered, because, as it turned out, he was there and saw everything. And it had been fixed in his memory. That was why his soul simply shielded him from the memories, from himself…"

James suddenly realised that she was shaking, pressing harder against him, as if seeking support. He freed one hand and began patting her shoulder, soothing her. James was sorry that he had unwittingly caused her to re-live all this.

"The result was clearly positive, and everyone was congratulating Theodic and rejoicing; except the young man. I felt his soul. He was not cured, quite the opposite – they killed him by bringing him back to reality. The next day he committed suicide by jumping out of the hospital window."

Xenia fell silent, panting and biting her lower lip.

"Legilimency cures the mind, not the soul. It is dangerous. After that incident I refused learning the Mental skills with the exception of Occlumency, just to make sure that no one would ever invade my mind; for any purpose. I chose my path… I decided that I would try to heal people's souls."

"I didn't know that there was such a specialty for Healers…"

"It is very rare, because it is almost impossible to heal a soul. There are no special spells or potions. There is only the Healer and his patient."

Xenia grew a little calmer and more relaxed in James' arms, her heart beat slower, more measured. She closed her eyes again.

"This is why it is so easy for you to calm me down…," the Gryffindor grinned softly.

"It is easier with you. You trust me and you are a very open person… And I care about you. All this makes it easier for a Healer of Souls," she turned her head a little and placed a soft kiss on his chin.

James smiled, stepped toward Lily's bed and pulled the girl with him. He sat down, leaning on the headboard and settled Xenia next to him. She snuggled comfortably against his chest, accepting his embrace.

"It is good that you came to Hogwarts. I am afraid to even think what I would do without you…" James placed his chin on her golden crown. "Thank Merlin that you came…"

"It is not Merlin that you need to thank, but your former Headmaster's portrait," Xenia corrected him, tracing patterns on his clasped hands with her finger.

"Meaning? Which Headmaster?"

"Oh, this is an interesting story. You see, we don't have a summer vacation after the sixth year at the Academy – we have practical examinations until August. Then we break till November, and the rest of the time – until June, when we take the Healer board exams – we practice general healing at any facility that has a licensed practicing Healer," Xenia's hands were surprisingly warm. "I wanted to accept an invitation to France. Then once, I was walking down the hallway at the Academy, and Albus Dumbledore's portrait called out to me…"

"You have a portrait of Dumbledore hanging at the Academy?" James asked in amazement.

"Oh, yes, he was a great man, and he also came up with twelve way of using dragon blood. This discovery advanced many areas of Healing…"

"And what did Dumbledore want?"

"He asked where I was going for my practical studies; why had I picked such a rare specialty… and whether I liked lemon drops," she smiled. "A good-natured old man, but very cunning. He asked whether I had ever been to England and whether I spoke English. And then he simply waved and walked out of the portrait. The next day I received a letter from Professor McGonagall, inviting me to study here and simultaneously practice in the hospital wing, with Madam Pomfrey. And I decided that I didn't want to miss a chance like that. Especially since my advisor said that Poppy Pomfrey was once a student at the Academy, and that he did not have objections to my going. I enrolled in several classes and came here. My aunt Asteria had been long inviting me to stay at their manor. So… I didn't have any doubts."

"I wonder, what was it about you that got Dumbledore hooked?" James said pensively, covering her fingers with his hand. "Or was he simply bored?"

"I don't know," the girl turned a little so that she could see the Gryffindor's face. "Are you not mad at me for what I did to Lily?"

"Not a bit. I am sure that you would not hurt her, and they really needed to talk because the Room of Requirement might eventually run out of tea-sets and vases," James leaned over and kissed her. "I hope that they will sort it all out because I have gotten sort of used to Malfoy keeping an eye on Lily along with me… What time is it?"

Xenia brought her watch up to her eyes and glanced at it:

"In ten minutes we can go to dinner."

"Good, then I have fifteen minutes to show you how grateful I am that you came into my life," the youth smiled, pulling her to him. She returned his kiss, putting her arms around his neck and running her fingers through his tousled hair.

"I like your way of expressing gratitude," she whispered into his lips. "The only thing that makes me uneasy is that we are kissing in your sister's room, on her bed…"

"Well, we loaned her and Malfoy the Room of Requirement," James reminded her, frowning a little. Only thirteen minutes remained of the fifteen that they had. On the other hand, who needed dinner?! He dreamed of Xenia for so many days, dreamed of holding her in his arms…

He easily undid her tie.

"Do you mind?" he whispered. She only smiled warmly, allowing him to make his most daring dreams a reality.

For long minutes afterwards, the heaven and hell in her arms completely consumed him, because Xenia was bestowing upon him the most precious gift – herself.


	58. Part VII - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

Chapter 2. Lily Potter.

She stood stock still, looking at him. His eyes, fixed on her face, which must look frightened and confused at the turn of events, were the colour of steel. And once there had been molten silver in his gaze…

_Had his eyes look like that to _her_, his fiancée? Had he gazed like that at her?_

Lily physically felt a wave of fury emanating from him, although the Slytherin's face did not betray anything but cold indifference. Of course, that is how it should be. After all, he had only been using her, Lily. He had only been playing with her…

A toy. That slur could have easily been guessed from the faces of many students who Lily has been passing by these days. A toy of Scorpius Malfoy, Priscilla Zabini's fiancé. They must have been saying something mocking to her. Yet, the only sound she heard was the echo of a heart-shaped crystal, breaking into shards within her chest.

He mustn't hear that. She wouldn't let him.

Tears were about to pour, but she wouldn't allow that. That was why she had been avoiding Malfoy. One look at him and she wanted to cry. She wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing it though.

Lily turned and pushed at the door. It didn't budge. The girl took out her wand, but it, for some strange reason, flew out of her hand. The Gryffindor looked back – of course, her wand was in Malfoy's hand, clasped with his own wand…

His wand. Lily saw it in her dreams. It was unusual; long and rather thick. It was made of a strange silvery tree. The girl had never seen anything like it. Light-silver smooth surface. Four indentations for the fingers on the handle. A silver wand. And now next to it was Lily's only weapon.

"Give me back my wand and unlock the door," she ordered, glaring at his left ear. If only he wouldn't see tears glistening in her eyes.

"No. If only because I am not the one who locked it," the Slytherin's voice was mocking, unsettling. "I believe it was your brilliant brother. Strategist, thestral trample him…"

Lily made another futile attempt to break out of this strange room. Like a trapped animal, she was looking for a way to get out of the snare. Malfoy watched her prentices with a mocking smile.

If only he wouldn't hear the frantic beating of her broken heart. If only he wouldn't understand that her knees were ready to buckle. If only he wouldn't find out how painful it was for her to just be near him. If only he wouldn't see the tears that were ready to spill over.

"Sit down; we have to talk," the Slytherin said, not a hint of warmth in his voice, putting both wands in his back pocket. Lily blinked in surprise – _sit where?_ It was an empty room, with only a table in the middle, covered, just like the floor, with shards of unknown origin, shreds of newspapers, broken quills, smashed teacups… "Sit."

Only now Lily noticed a chair to her right. _Where did it come from? And, anyway, what is this place?_ Out of sheer stubbornness, she didn't sit down and didn't ask Malfoy any questions. She had only one thought in her head: to leave, run away, hide, so she could burst into tears; because his coldness and derision made it even more painful for her. He didn't even bother to pretend that he cared about her…

He reached her side in one step and forced her down onto the chair, looming over her. His eyes were unreadable yet full of anger. His hands made her shiver. _He is angry? HIM?! How dares he?!_

"Potter, if you make any unnecessary moves or say anything at all, I shall make you regret every single day that you made me go out of my mind. I promise you," Malfoy said through clenched teeth, forcing her to raise her face to his. "I am not joking."

She gulped, knowing that to be the truth. The Slytherin was seething with rage. Why? And why should she obey him? What else could he do to her? Would it be any more painful than it was already? No, it couldn't be.

"Where are we?" Lily bowed her head, not wanting him to read anything in her face. She looked at his legs; his black uniform trousers were covered with dust. He wasn't wearing his robes. She felt uncomfortable at his looming over her like this.

"The Room of Requirement," he said curtly. He was probably looking down at her, but Lily stubbornly kept her head down; because she could feel a tear slipping off her eyelashes. His smell, as he stood so close, caused her pain anew, making it more difficult to hold back the sobs that had been trying to burst forth for the past week. Still, she would persevere – he would not see her pain.

"Don't talk nonsense; it was destroyed many years ago," Lily bit her lip stubbornly, painfully, to hold onto her control.

"You are the one who is talking and doing nonsense," Scorpius chortled, but he didn't move, still standing before her, his hands in his pockets. "This _is_ the Room of Requirement."

"Then I require that an open door appears, so that I can leave," Lily said, turning toward the blank wall.

"This won't happen because _I_ do not wish it," the Slytherin's harsh, disturbing voice caused Lily almost physical pain.

"So you have wished for a room with a pile of rubbish and empty walls?" Surprisingly, she was still able to grin, even though her throat contracted. She needed to run from here. Run.

"I was just cleaning up," Malfoy stepped forward, standing right up against her knees and Lily tensed up, trying not to breathe, because he was too close. _Hate him…Hate him…Hate him!_ "Look at me; I am not used to talk to the top of someone's head."

"Oh, go jump in the lake!" she retorted, looking up at him nevertheless. She immediately tried to draw back, in shock, for his eyes were no longer steely, they were an icy void.

Malfoy gripped her chin, holding her still. Lily bit her lip, feeling the traitorous tears roll down her cheeks. She didn't have time to react to the Slytherin's quick move.

He dropped to his knees in front of her and kissed her, bending her arms back, to keep her from pushing him away. She resisted until his tongue thrust deep into her mouth. And then she no longer had either the energy or the desire to push him away.

His kiss was not tender or gentle, as usual, but hungry and impatient. His lips caused brief pain, but it was redeeming pain; because her heart was no longer tearing apart, it was only beating faster – and faster still, as his hands stroked her back.

"_No! He betrayed you…! Yes! You can't live without him… No! He was only playing with you and is still doing it… Yes! You are dying without him… No! Stop… Yes! You can't stop this…"_

The struggle within Lily raged on, as though of its own accord, while she had already surrendered to her captor, knowing that he could do with her anything he wanted anyway.

He was breathing hard as he pulled away. Lily opened her eyes and saw molten silver lapping in the eyes she loved.

Malfoy drew a fresh breath, but didn't let go of her arms, as though afraid that she would again try to resist or turn away from him. Lily couldn't though; she was almost drowned in his silver gaze.

"Listen, Lily," his voice was unexpectedly muted, "I don't know what my darling father is saying or plotting, but I never consented to an engagement with anyone, let alone with Zabini."

She wanted to throw in his face the words that she carried inside her these past few days: "Traitor! Liar! Hypocrite!", but how could she, while looking into the liquid silver of his eyes? She wanted to believe him, but her mind was still attempting to resist.

"Your father would not have said this, were he not certain that you wanted it."

"Merlin, you are talking about Draco Malfoy, not Harry Potter here," Scorpius snorted. Lily noticed that his face was assuming the expression that she had grown used to: the hard lines softening, the teasingly-patronizing look in his eyes, forehead smoothing out. "Don't measure my family by the standards of yours, it was always fu… screwed up."

He was speaking while wiping her tear-stained cheeks with his fingers. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in this welcome caress. She needed these hands, this voice. Let him speak; let him convince her that everything written in that article was a lie, that he was not pretending, that he really did belong only to her.

"Your fiancée…" she said quietly and felt him releasing her arms from behind her back.

"I don't have a fiancée," he chortled again, getting up and dusting off his trousers. "Zabini can tattoo her forehead with _future Mrs. Scorpius Malfoy_, for all I care, but it won't change anything."

Lily followed him with her eyes. Strangely, the room changed in the last few minutes. The shards and the rubbish vanished, to be replaced with a fireplace, with fire dancing in it, and a clock ticking on the mantle. Malfoy walked over to the table and sat on it, his eyes on Lily.

"So, this was all a lie? Your father lied? But, Scorpius, now the entire wizarding community knows about it!"

"I don't give a damn. My father cooked it all up, now let him choke on it. I would have liked to see Daddy Draco explain all this to Zabini's parents," the Slytherin chuckled.

"I simply can't imagine it," Lily stood up, unable to sit any longer. She suddenly realised that the shrill sound of breaking crystal in her chest was gone, to be replaced with growing warmth. She believed him; she wanted to believe him. "He won't be able to simply force you, will he…?"

Scorpius pursed his lips skeptically:

"He hasn't been able to force me to do anything for about five years now," the Slytherin held his hand out to her and Lily took it, stood before him, and let him put his arms around her. There was that intoxicating smell again. Even if he was lying, it was too late to run now. Now she wouldn't be able to stop herself from believing him.

"Remember my father's visit?" she raised her arm and traced her finger along the edge of his shirt, opened at the throat. "He said that your father had come to him. They had a row. Apparently, your father had somehow found out… about us."

"Somehow…" Scorpius grinned, looking at her. "I know how. Zabini had something to do with it, for sure. Now I understand why Daddy Draco found it necessary to shout about my upcoming engagement in front of the reporters. He lacks subtlety…"

"What will you do now?" Lily asked worriedly.

"Now I am planning to collect all your debts for the past week," he raised his eyebrows cunningly, "and then, I think, it would be a good idea to go to lunch, because, as far as I know, you have hardly been eating in the last few days… What is this bad habit you Potters have: starving yourselves at the slightest provocation?"

Lily smiled, but leaned back a little when Malfoy reached for her:

"Wait… Scorpius, but how… everyone thinks that Zabini is your fiancée. I won't be able to…"

He sighed in exasperation:

"You like creating problems, don't you? What does it matter what others think? You know that it is not true. Let others think what they will…"

"But this will reach my family as well. And what will the professors think of me? They do read the papers, you know!"

"So what do you want me to do?" Malfoy frowned. She shrugged her shoulders hesitantly. "All right, I promise I will think of something, if this is so important to you. Although after the rumors of my sleeping with you, it won't be any worse, I reckon."

Lily shook her head, knowing that she had no choice. She could not be without him; she needed him. But how could she deal with her conscience? With the Weasleys? With Professor Longbottom and Hagrid? Finally, her father would know about it as well…

"Lily, don't. Don't make that face, or I shall begin to think that I have chased after you in vain for six days, trying to explain. You do believe me, don't you?"

"Is it important to you?" she asked suddenly, although initially she did not intend at all to pressure him.

"Of course, not," Scorpius chortled. "I was rude to Flitwick just for the fun of it, nearly killed a house elf, and clobbered Gregory with a Vomiting curse… And to top it all off, smashed all the dishes in the pantry of the Room of Requirement. By the way, one of the vases was actually from a dynasty of…"

"Wait," Lily frowned, "you cursed Greg? Malfoy…"

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I had warned him to stay away from you," Scorpius reminded her. "Never do that again…"

"That was my line," Lily smiled.

"I will never be rude to Flitwick again, I promise," Malfoy attempted not to laugh when Lily punched his shoulder in dismay. "And one more thing: will you be my date at the Christmas Ball?"

"Scorpius, it is only mid-October!"

"I am just letting you know in advance that you won't be getting rid of me that easily. Even if you run from me all around the castle for the next month. Next time, however, think of the poor house elves and other innocent bystanders…"

"Forgive me," she stroked his cheek.

"For what, exactly?"

"For slapping you again," she looked a little embarrassed.

"Well this has all been put on your tab, which is growing with each passing minute," the Slytherin hinted with his usual wicked smile, that Lily also loved. "So, will you be my date at the Ball?"

She nodded. And time ceased to exist again; as though the week of pain and suffering had never happened. Lily had never felt him as acutely before: his hands, stroking her shoulders and back; his lips and tongue, hungrily pressing against her mouth; his body, pressed against hers; his skin under her hands.

At one point she realised that she wanted more than to simply be kissing him. But this thought never formed clearly in her head because the clock on the mantle loudly rang lunchtime.


	59. Part VII - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

_**Chapter 3. Harry Potter.**_

Until recently, Harry Potter's world had been simple and clear. He had a home and family, a job he loved, happy friends; and memories, with their wonted pain.

"Had been", indeed. What is your life now, Harry Potter? The children and his memories, with their renewed pain, clawing at him, awake or asleep.

Ginny was gone and he had to learn to live without her; solving a myriad problems, both family and household related, which his wife used to handle so effortlessly. He had to learn to be alone, to get used to the empty bed; to a strange bed; to a strange home; for he no longer had a home, where someone was waiting for him, fretting and looking at the clock.

He no longer had happy friends; friends, but not happy. What he had was the haggard and very anxious Hermione; and Ron, with his life turned inside out. Happiness that used to radiate from their home and their hearts was no more. Now there was constant danger in their lives. Would they survive it?

He no longer had a job he loved; because Harry Potter could no longer love his job. He could no longer do what had led to the destruction of his life, of his world, full of love and comfort. He thought that work would help him forget about the void in his heart and his yearning for Ginny, but it didn't. They only became worse, because they were now accompanied by guilt. Still, Harry had to go on working because he had to find those who had conspired to harm his wife, his friends, and his children. Those who still lurked in the shadows, planning the new attack. He had to protect his family, and he had to take his revenge. And so he pressed on.

Yet, he still had his children. James, with his low marks and constant acting out, which had Harry receive weekly letters from the Head of Gryffindor House. Lily, with her ill-timed crush on the son of Draco Malfoy and all the resulting difficulties. And Albus – naïve and absent-minded – with his strange talent for Legilimency and his dreams about eating lemon drops with Dumbledore.

Harry lay on the bed, looking at the canopy, slowly drifting off to sleep. He felt broken down and exhausted. Once – in another life, it seemed – he used to love his job, but today it became apparent to him that it would never be the same again. He could not be calm and detached, looking at the captured werewolves who were being held in a special room at the Department of Mysteries. Eleven neophytes, not counting the Muggles, in five days; three of them – Ministry workers. The situation had become critical, but the Minister still insisted on keeping everything under wraps and hid his head in the sand.

He needed to get up, take his clothes off and take a shower, to wash away the memories of this hard day, but he was tired and he did not want to move. He was tired of the pain; and of the hatred. Hatred for those who conspired against his loved ones; for those who have since become like those six who started it all in late August; for all of them.

He kept himself in check all day, afraid to lose control and kill one of those being questioned. He knew – they didn't do anything, they were mere victims, but his heart was pounding, and the thirst for revenge demanded blood. Still, Harry endured, clenching his fists and sinking his nails into his palms until the blood showed. He could not liken himself to his enemies. He had to endure and do his job.

This was not the first day of their struggling with the captives – trying to elicit out of them who, where, and when bit them. But the newly infected werewolves (the attacks peaked during the full moon) gave contradictory testimony, looking around frantically, and cowering in the corners of the room. Some of them flew into a rage and the Aurors were able to observe the process of transformation in minute detail. They were only able to learn one thing with certainty – all werewolves were programmed to bite other wizards. This programming did not come as a surprise for anyone; the possibility of an army of werewolves no longer seemed academic.

Harry, Kingsley, the workgroup's Healer, and a Magical Creatures specialist analyzed all the available data until late evening. Harry, however, remained mostly silent, because his suggestion – the use of Legilimency – was the one under discussion. Albus had proven it to be effective. Healers were not certain that it would be safe and – which was the main consideration – whether by entering into their patients' minds they could retrieve the information they needed. These were not human minds, after all, but those of werewolves, half-animals. They have not come to any decisions, especially since they had not gotten a capable Healer-Legiliment. And the only capable one they knew of might very well refuse the "privilege" of working for those who had fired him.

Harry sighed deeply, turning onto his side, took his wand out of his back pocket and set it aside. Slumber finally claimed him.

He was dreaming of Ginny. She stood on a green hill. The wind was playing with her hair and the hem of her sundress. He always loved this dress – white, airy, and light. She always put it on when they went to the beach.

He wanted to touch her, to feel her warmth so badly that his chest hurt. To feel her hands; her skin. To kiss her; to remember the taste of her lips. He held his hand out to her. Ginny laughed, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him. She used to look at him like that back in school, when there were no family issues, children, Harry's job. And her laughter was light, thrilling, and full of pure joy.

He did manage to touch her and even heard her call for him: "Harry!" and he embraced her, pressing her against him, really feeling her warmth. He found her lips and kissed her. Her lips were a little salty, probably from the sea breeze. And the hot tongue that he touched…

At that moment he realised that he was no longer asleep, and that the woman in his arms was real, that he was not kissing the Ginny from his dream. Harry was returning slowly to reality – recovering not only the thoughts, moving sluggishly inside his head, but from his sensations as well.

A stranger's body. A stranger's smell. A stranger's lips. A stranger's kiss.

The complete clarity dawned, and Harry shrank back, pushing the woman away. He instantly recognized Hermione's features in the dark of the room – apparently, he had fallen asleep without taking off his glasses. He gasped, sat up, and hid his face in his hands, trying to calm his frantically beating, cheated heart; and his cheated body.

"Forgive me," he breathed. His hands were shaking, his body reacting too strongly to a woman's closeness. Ginny's laughter still rang in his ears, while the taste of another's kiss lingered on his lips.

Harry heard Hermione stir; then she moved closer and hugged him in her usual, friendly, non-imposing manner.

"It's all right, Harry, I understand," she whispered. Of course, she was not angry – this was Hermione – but her closeness was unbearable for Harry right now. He jumped up, pulling away and trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

_Damn… Damn. Damn!_ He had gone and done it now. He must have gone completely insane; with despair; with emptiness; with loneliness.

"What time is it?" Harry forced himself to speak, trying to pull himself together. It was just that his dream had felt so real and the awakening…

"One a.m." she sat up, lowering her feet to the floor.

"Then what brought you here? Something with Ron?"

"No," Hermione answered after a small pause. "He is asleep. I simply stopped by to look in on you. George came by and said that he had seen you at the Diagon Alley and that you didn't look well…"

"Don't worry, I am ok," Harry looked for his wand, but he couldn't remember where he had left it on the bed. And he didn't want to get close to Hermione. Therefore, he simply walked over to the fireplace and found a box of matches on the mantle where he always kept it. Just in case.

Harry lit a few candles, illuminating the small chaos in his room. As Hermione gazed softly at him, Harry suddenly realised what drew his eyes to her. There was a small bruise on Hermione's cheekbone, and another one was peeking from the neck opening of her loose-fitting sweater.

"What is that?" Harry flounced to her, dropped to his knees and lifted her chin. "Hermione, what are these bruises?"

He took her hand and lifted her sleeve. There they were – the finger marks. He wanted to see her other hand, but she wrenched free and moved away.

"It's nothing, Harry…"

"Nothing?!" he forced her to face him. "This is not nothing, Hermione! Is he beating you?"

He shook her head. Her eyes were glistening. Harry suddenly realised why her lips tasted salty. She had been crying.

"He is not beating me," Hermione said, turning away. Her auburn hair hid her face from her friend. "It's just that he's become a little… intemperate."

"I shall speak to him," Harry saw his wand and stepped forward to pick it up.

"Don't, Harry," she clutched at his hand. "Don't. It will all sort itself out; it's just that it is a tough time for him…"

"Hermione, listen to what you are saying! It is a tough time for all of us, but it doesn't give him the right to hurt you!" Harry fumed, shaking her by the shoulders. "That is why you came here, isn't it? Do you fear him?"

"No!" Hermione shook her head, looking scared. "I do not fear him! I really did come by to check on you and Albus… You two do not seem to be eating well and don't take good care of yourselves."

"Don't change the subject, Hermione," Harry asked, calmer now. "I have to speak with Ron…"

"Leave it," she said firmly. "We will handle it ourselves, don't worry about us. Better think about yourself…"

Harry understood what she was referring to.

"Sorry, it's just that I dreamed…"

"Of Ginny, yes, I know," Hermione started walking around the room and picking up Harry's scattered clothes. "Forget it, I understand."

Harry watched her fold the sweater he tossed aside some time ago, his shirts, papers. He could not forget. Because Ginny had been the only woman in his life. Her lips and arms were the only ones that mattered. Those before her had been long forgotten. And now everything changed, because he deigned touching another woman; even if only in a dream, only for an instant, but he did. It was as if he betrayed her, _his_ Ginny.

"Leave it, Hermione," Harry angrily snatched his clothes out of her hands. She looked at him, a little shocked.

"Who are you angry at right now: yourself or me?"

"Just – don't. I will do everything myself. And you need to go and talk to Ron, since you would not allow me to do it."

"Harry, I cannot leave you in this…"

"In this what?!" He yelled unexpectedly. His whole body was tense and his heart was beating fast, as if he had run several miles. "Don't you understand?! I have to handle it myself! I don't need anyone's help, especially yours!"

She recoiled, paling slightly under his glare. Harry knew that it wasn't right to lose it with her like this, but the words had been spoken. He turned away, wishing that there was something he could smash. Too bad there was not a million small trinkets in this room, like there had been so many years ago in Dumbledore's study, where he could smash and crush everything in sight.

Harry gave a start when the door closed shut. Hermione had left. It didn't make him feel better though. Blood was pounding in his temples; his cheeks and forehead were burning. His hands were trembling. Harry slid down the wall to the floor and closed his eyes, trying to calm down. He had not lost control like this since his school years. Since Sirius died.

"Daddy…"

Harry looked up – the sleepy-looking Albus was standing in the doorway, without his glasses, a slightly confused expression on his face.

"Sorry, did I wake you up, son?" Harry held his arms out to the boy, who lost no time sitting down next to him on the floor.

"You are sad, aren't you?" Albus lay his palm on his father's hand. "I know that you are sad because Mummy is not with us."

"It's all right, Al; it will get better," Harry said, speaking to himself more so than to his son. "Everything will be well."

Albus nodded:

"You know, Gramps and I were plucking a phoenix in my dream last night…"

"Excuse me?" Harry didn't understand.

"Well, phoenix, you know – a birdie. He was sitting on his perch. We decided – he who gets the last feather will get the lemon drop… We only had one left."

"But, Al, it must have been painful for the phoenix!"

"No, Daddy, not at all! Gramps said that the feathers could be used to make many wands, and that the phoenix would grow more feathers later…"

"So, who ended up getting the lemon drop?"

"I did. And then Gramps took his wand and divided the lemon drop in two. He always does it when he loses…"

Harry smiled. Some people did not change even after death.


	60. Part VII - Chapter 4 - Theodic

_**Chapter 4. Theodic.**_

Empty corridors. Silence. This was how he liked Hogwarts best. The night. Just occasional rustling here and there. Clanking of suits of armor. Flapping of owl wings. The wind beating against the window panes.

He passed the staircase. The corridor. Almost no light. The sleeping gargoyle.

"Bryan."

His voice rustled, too. It didn't violate the silence. The gargoyle's face puckered sleepily, but it turned.

Theo entered the moving staircase. Tension – that was all he felt. Mere tension.

Strange. McGonagall so easily agreed to tell him the password. Did she know? Did she guess the reason for his visit? Theo couldn't tell for sure. Her mind was well protected. She knew what he was; and what he was capable of. Yet, she told him the password; as though giving him her permission.

Theo pushed the door open. The study was empty and yet, very crowded. Multitude of faces. Multitude of colours. Multitude of details. It felt disorienting. Theo liked an austere emptiness, as few trinkets as was possible. Here there was too much of everything.

Another couple of steps. Eyes watching him; many eyes. No thoughts, however. No thoughts in this study at all. Eyes. Movement. But no thoughts. No one alive. Only painted.

Burning candles. Flickering flames. Gleaming faces. Frames.

Theo saw him right away. The portrait, staring directly at him.

"Ah, I knew that we would see each other again soon enough, Healer Mancilli," a familiar voice. A cunning voice. Albus Dumbledore.

"Not quite so soon," Theo rounded the desk. He looked from Dumbledore to his father's portrait. Severus Snape. Portraits don't have thoughts. Perceivable thoughts. But there are echoes of feelings.

The sallow face held an echo of wariness. Of disbelief. And of something else.

"Well, for those who are already dead, a couple of years is nothing, my young friend," Dumbledore chuckled, taking a step toward Snape's portrait. "Severus, I would like you to meet Theodic Mancilli… A very talented Healer. He has amazingly developed abilities – for Legilimency."

"I became yet another one of your mistakes. The only one that you didn't regret. And if I am still alive, then you have done it right," Theo's voice never wavered. He answered Snape's direct look with his own.

Recognition? Understanding. An echo of feelings on Severus Snape's face. _Father._

"You should have studied at Hogwarts," Theodic heard his father's voice for the first time. Not in his memories. Not muted by time. "I was certain that you were dead."

"And I was certain that you were dead. I was the less lucky."

Dumbledore was silent. Waiting. A cunning old man.

"How did you know where to find me?" Father. Just as he had pictured him. No emotions. _Father?_

Theo looked over. Dumbledore, grinning into his beard.

"Headmaster, have you known about him?" Snape turned toward Dumbledore. _Of course he did._

Theo passed by Dumbledore's portrait before. Passing by, that was all. He was never interested in the portraits. They didn't have thoughts. Perceivable thoughts. But Dumbledore's portrait was always watching him. All his years at the Academy. And then once it spoke. Just a few phrases. "Have you never been to England? What a pity. You would find it quite interesting. You might find there all you have long dreamed of." That was all. It was two years ago. When Theo taught at the Academy.

"Oh, Severus, I didn't know that he was your son," Dumbledore was smiling. He knew. Theo was sure of it. Even if the portrait didn't have thoughts, Theo had astute intuition. Dumbledore had known. "I simply met this young man at the Healers Academy. I was quite curious to know where this boy got his talent for Mental methods. And you see, Severus, I was right once again…"

Theo looked at his father. He felt his anger. The echo of his anger.

"Playing your games again, eh, Headmaster?" the black eyes narrowed. Dumbledore was not disturbed. He took out a lemon drop. Unwrapped it. "Are we once again mere pawns in this chess set of yours?"

Theo understood. He had seen Harry Potter's memories. About Dumbledore's deadly gambling – gambling with human lives. Potter's life. Theo's father's life.

"Severus, Severus," the old man shook his head. No embarrassment; true to form; the commander. "You have never been a pawn and I think you know it! Queen? No… Bishop? Knight?"

"As you wish," Snape said through clenched teeth. He shifted his gaze to look at Theo. "What are you doing here?"

"Working," Theo waited. Dumbledore had to put his cards on the table, some of them, at least. Because the time had come. They knew it. He saw the previous set; in the memories. A portion of the truth must be disclosed now. Because Theodic was a Snape. Was he to take his father's place? Or would he be a pawn in a new set? A battle between good and evil.

"Headmaster, you lured him here on purpose," Severus Snape pointed at his son. Theo recognized the gesture; it was his own; a little scornful; uneasy. "What are the stakes this time? Saving the world again? Sacrificing Potter? Dammit, Dumbledore, Potter! The boy is in play as well, isn't he?"

Dumbledore merely smiled. He followed Severus Snape's train of thought. Theo was not understanding yet. The boy Potter. James? Or the second one from Harry Potter's memories?

"Who else?"

Theo snapped his fingers:

"Xenia Verdi."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. He seemed surprised and pleased. Theo's father didn't understand.

"Who is she?"

"She is a Healer. From the Academy. She came over here too. She is a talented Legilement, but she is not using her talent," Theo was looking from his father to Dumbledore. The latter was playing with the lemon drop wrapper. Commander. The chess figures have been set. But has the match begun?

"So, you are gathering all the Legilements together, Headmaster, aren't you?" Severus Snape's eyes bore into Dumbledore's. "What for? Against whom are we playing this time?"

"Voldemort's creatures. Werewolves who are not dependent on the moon cycle," Dumbledore became serious. He looked at Theo. His father was right then. Theo was in play as well. Dumbledore bet flawlessly. He bet on Theo's dream.

"And have you known about them for long, may I ask?" Snape's voice oozed venom. "I dare suppose, since _before_ their escape from Azkaban."

"No, I have known about them since they were created," Dumbledore tapped his fingers on the portrait frame. "Remus Lupin brought me information from the werewolves' side. I put two and two together and figured out what was going on."

"Why didn't you say something earlier? Potter would have been sure to rush into the hands of death and destroy the menace," Severus Snape was angry.

"I hoped that the creatures would not outlive the creator," Dumbledore looked sad. He had miscalculated. Theo could see that. The old headmaster of Hogwarts made a mistake. "The wizarding world rejoiced so in Voldemort's defeat. Who was I to get in the way of their joy? To interrupt Harry's happiness and send him into battle again?"

"You never change, Headmaster," Snape snorted. "Stepping on the same rake over and over again."

"Severus, forgive the old man his frailties," Dumbledore's eyes flashed.

"Your weakness. It cost me my life. And many other lives. Harry Potter's wife's life," Theo crossed his arms. That touched Dumbledore's sore spot. He seemed dispirited.

"Is that why you made me teach Potter's son?" Severus Snape was frowning. "To protect them again?"

"Yes and no. I have been watching this boy for a long time. He has a lot of magic inside him. The earlier he learns to control it, the better. And yes – Legilemency shall protect Albus Severus and his family."

"So, it is the werewolf army against the army of Legilements, isn't it?" Theo's father shook his head. He was used to it. He was used to Dumbledore's games. Theo would get used to them also. He would take his father's place. And he would survive.

"Yes, I think so," Dumbledore tucked the candy wrapper in his pocket. He looked up at Theo. "The Ministry must eventually understand that pitching werewolves against werewolves is not a good solution. And they will arrive at the idea of using Legilemency. Albus Potter has already shown them convincingly what power Legilemency carries. Harry Potter has already suggested using Mental methods in the fight against werewolves. And if they have even a scintilla of wisdom, they will soon come to you, Theodic."

Theo nodded.

"Must I consent?"

Dumbledore smiled:

"I knew you would agree. You must agree. You have the power and the helpers. Use them."

"What must I do?"

"I don't know yet. But it will come to you, I am sure," Dumbledore retreated into his portrait. "Search. Never stop in your quest. Search is what leads you along your life path, Theodic Snape. And you shall find what you seek. Light, not darkness; Earth, not Fire. And remember, history never repeats itself, it merely attempts to correct its mistakes."

Theo nodded. Riddles. A chess match. And his father, looking at him.

"You have a choice," Severus Snape said. "You can choose to follow your own way. You are a Mancilli, not a Snape."

"I have chosen," Theo dropped his hands. "I choose you, Father."

Theo turned and left the study. The chessboard. Riddles. Father.

And HER. The girl with a Head Girl badge. Earth, not Fire. If nothing else, Theo understood that one.


	61. Part VII - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.

He was dying to sleep. Never in his life had he had such a tough week. Although what did he expect if, in addition to having a Potter for the best friend, he now also had a Potter as the girlfriend? Now all he had to do was to get himself an enemy named Potter, and he would never be bored again.

_And how, pray tell, did this alarm clock appear in the Room of Requirement? Who asked it to ring at the most inopportune moment?!_ This thought helped keep Scorpius awake, which was necessary for him to complete his task.

Thankfully, James Potter also wasn't sleeping tonight. As befit a true Gryffindor and possibly a best friend, he took it upon himself to aid Malfoy in fulfilling his promise. Scorpius promised Lily to come up with something. And he has. Simple and brilliant, and, besides, Malfoy was sure she would like it.

And so, instead of spending the night embracing their girlfriends – damn, another cold shower! – or, at least, sleeping soundly in their beds alone, the two friends were carrying out the brilliant, in Scorpius' opinion, plan of soothing Lily Potter's conscience and sense of propriety.

They spent all evening trying to find magic paint and brushes. Around midnight they stole a wide strip of white fabric from Filtch, stashed for the caretaker's own mysterious purpose. Malfoy guessed that it was intended as a nice shroud for the good old Mrs. Norris. Not that this amount of fabric was not enough for a wedding dress for Hagrid's girlfriend, who once a month raced her alcoholic horses to Hogwarts only to shout "Oh! 'Agrid! Mon cher!". At least, it wasn't "mon petit garçon", which would have been sure to have Hagrid delivered to St. Mungo's with an exploded brain.

And so, ever since half past midnight, Scorpius and James have been working on carrying out Malfoy's plan. They spread out the piece of cloth – the Room of Requirement had become a huge hall, with a warm fireplace and hardwood floors. No extraordinary artist's talent was needed, but even writing the letters so that they were perfectly aligned and even was not so simple. At first, they wanted to do it the easy way – downing a bottle of butterbeer and going at it – but something suggested to them that this task needed to be approached with an utmost commitment. The main challenge was to stay awake.

"I think that 'Potter' is not blinking brightly enough," James remarked, standing next to the painted cloth, suppressing a yawn. The hapless clock that seemed to have been haunting Scorpius showed half past five in the morning.

"And to me it seems like someone cannot quite see straight," Malfoy retorted, dropping to the floor and closing his eyes. "Even the Malfoy coat-of-arms pales in comparison with 'Potter'. And it is a good deal older than the very idea of creating Potters at some remote times when one goblin hit the other over the head and then the two of them decided to start yet another war, lest Binns does not have something to huff about in class…"

"All right, agreed, you will be taking the History of Magic N.E.W.T.s for me," James could no longer stifle a yawn. "Come on, we have yet to hang this up without bumping into Filch or someone else…"

"Do you seriously think that there is another pair of idiots in the castle who spent the night drawing a poster?" the Slytherin chortled languidly; he got up, rubbing his face in an attempt to wake up. At the very moment when he took his hands off his face, a jet of icy cold water blasted him right in the nose. "Potter!"

James laughed, twirling his wand and looking at the damp Scorpius:

"I was just trying to help…"

Malfoy reciprocated, hosing the Gryffindor down with a stream of water from his own wand. Drenched, James raised his wand with a menacing expression on his face, when Scorpius stopped him:

"If you wet my poster, I will turn you into a Persian cat!"

"Why a Persian, pray tell?"

"It is furry – easier to mop the floor with," Malfoy dried himself off and walked over to the fruit of their sleepless night. While Potter was setting himself to rights, Scorpius carefully rolled up the cloth and lifted it up in the air, levitating it toward the exit.

They were lucky not to encounter anyone on their way to the Entrance Hall. Filch must not yet be aware of something missing from his stores.

The two friends had decided that the best place for such an announcement was the Entrance Hall. They unrolled the poster and hung it right over the entrance to the Great Hall. The cloth was bound to attract the attention of anyone descending the stairs – they had made each letter blink and play. Even the Malfoy coat-of-arms, which took Scorpius about three hours of painstaking work, glowed with each line and aspect. They only used three colours – green, gray (in lieu of silver), and dark-red (they matched it to Lily's hair, using her picture). It seemed to have come out well.

James and Scorpius stepped back to admire their masterpiece. Although they were both dying to sleep, the sleepless night had not been in vain. Now Lily couldn't say that Malfoy did nothing to ensure the piece of her heart and mind.

"So, what do you want to do before breakfast?" James inquired, yawning with gusto. "Doesn't seem to be much of a point to go to sleep…"

"Of course, it doesn't to you, you selfish Gryffindor; you have the History of Magic coming up, so you'll be able to snooze to your heart's content," Scorpius growled, turning away from the poster, whose blinking and flashing made his eyes hurt. "I have Arithmancy, however, not much opportunity for a nap… I think that Vector got it in for me… Or got it up, anyway. Thestral knows them, these women!"

"By the way, you do remember what day it is, don't you?" James stretched, trying to shake himself awake.

"Hmm… you and I have an anniversary?" Scorpius guessed. "The anniversary of my putting a spell on your ears? Or of your filling your Gryffindor mug with three bottles of Firewhiskey that I had saved for your birthday? Or…"

"Think more globally, you petty and rancorous son of a ferret," Potter grinned, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "Today is the last day of our slavery at McGonagall's. And then – we have all our evenings free… Hey…"

"Look you, sexy beast, I don't reckin Harry the Dad is dying to become Harry the Gramps," Malfoy smirked.

"Envy in silence."

"You just keep talking, Potter… Keep in mind, I _can_ go ahead and do what you hit me for. Since I have already caught it from you for besmirching your sister's honour, I might do the crime for real," Scorpius said, watching James' face darken. _You asked for it, you ugly show-off._ Oddly, Potter didn't say anything. He didn't yell: "Keep you hands off her! She is only fifteen!" and a million other maxims a la Brother Jimmy, but merely frowned. Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes. _Xenia is a true miracle-maker, she is. A lion-tamer, hippogriff trample you!_ "Is that a silent consent?"

"Dream on," the Gryffindor muttered, turning away. "It's just that I can't do anything… Especially, if she wants it."

"We haven't discussed it yet," Scorpius admitted honestly, grateful to his friend for using his brain more now to do his thinking for him.

"Is it necessary to discuss?" the Gryffindor grinned, suppressing another yawn. "I don't recall you ever having discussed it or put it to a vote before."

"It wasn't your sister before," Malfoy shrugged his shoulders, "it wasn't Lily Potter."

"Is it she who is special or your attitude toward her?"

The two friends sat down on the floor by the staircase. If they fell asleep, someone would wake them up by tripping over them, they reckoned.

"Both," Malfoy said after a short pause, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. "You know, it is difficult not to feel differently about a girl who has slapped you five times."

"Wow! When did she manage?" James mused, closing his eyes as well.

"Now and again," the Slytherin muttered sleepily. Scorpius was drifting off to sleep; his body and soul, exhausted from unusual emotional experiences, demanded rest. He never suffered so much over a girl; never had been so irate for things not going according to his plan; never needed anyone so much.

His eyes flew open. Potter was asleep, his mouth slightly agape, and his head tilted to the side. Malfoy's heart was slamming in his chest. It was as if it was afraid of itself; afraid of what might be in it.

Scorpius sighed heavily and attempted to fall asleep again. When did it happen? How? He was not a novice at falling for a girl. It was more of a rule than an exception. But to become dependent on a girl? Of her regard for him? Of her smile? Of her hands? Hands with slender fingers and neatly trimmed nails.

He dreamed of these hands touching his bare shoulders, his back… He dreamed of kissing her fingers, her soft palms, her wrists… He dreamed of her.

Malfoy shivered, aware of where such thoughts were leading to – the same place where he had found himself many times in the last two weeks – a cold shower.

_She is only fifteen. She doesn't even know how to kiss properly. I can't. I just can't_, he was telling himself, squeezing his eyes shut. _Don't rush, lead her slowly. Have patience. At least until she is sixteen._ Then his conscience, cultivated by Potter, would not be biting him as much. And James wouldn't be able to yell out to him: "She is only fifteen!" Although, how was that better than "she is only sixteen"?

The Slytherin did fall asleep after all, while, it seemed, still considering the option of strangling his conscience and making Lily Potter his; fully his. He was certain – it would be something completely new and special for him; something, after which he would be content to die; at James' hands; at Harry Potter's hands; at his own father's hands. Because it would not matter – because her body and her soul would have become his.

_What difference does it make how old she is?!_ Scorpius was sure that she was ready to follow him all the way. But the damned Potter, with his getting hysterical at the mere thought that his sister might have become a woman, would not allow Malfoy to cross that line. He often came right up to it; but always retreated. The last time it was more due to the clock in the Room of Requirement. He still retreated, however!

He must have fantasized about her too much, because he could distinctly smell her perfume and feel her fingers touching his face. And then – the warmth of her light kiss on his lips.

"Scor… Scorpius…" her voice whispered, while her soft palms gently stroked his folded arms. "Come on, wake up..."

"Noooo," he mumbled. "This is such a nice dream… You are kissing me in it."

"Like this?" and her lips pressed against his again.

It was the most wonderful awakening in all of his short life. He opened his eyes when her hot tongue shyly touched his lower lip.

This was not a dream. It was Lily. She hunkered down next to him, smoothing her skirt over her knees. She was glowing. Malfoy lazily reached out and pulled her toward him for a real kiss this time.

"Where is Potter?" Malfoy finally remembered his friend, sleeping next to him. At least he had been sleeping next to him. As it turned out, he was no longer there. But there seemed to be a lot of people in the Entrance Hall.

"He told me that you were here," she softly traced her finger down his cheek. "Thank you. It was incredibly nice… and… I don't even know how to say it."

"So, you like it? You are comfortable now and you can even hold my hand in public and not be ashamed?" Malfoy narrowed his eyes slyly, playing with her long locks.

"Well, what girl wouldn't like it if she got up in the morning and saw that the man she loved had hung a poster for everyone to see, especially with such words written on it…"

"Can this be considered a declaration of love?"

She looked embarrassed:

"Well, only if your 'Lily Potter is the one and only girl for Scorpius Malfoy' can also be considered such a declaration," she smiled, getting up.

"All right, we are even," Scorpius also stood up, stretching his stiff joints. Together, they walked from under the staircase and immediately bumped into Filch and Professor Faust, who were peering suspiciously at the blinking poster.

"So, Mr. Malfoy. 'The ball comes to the player', I see." The Head of the Gryffindor house seemed happy about something at this early hour. "Twenty points off the Slytherin house, Mr. Malfoy, for the theft of school property. Take this off the wall immediately. And I am also giving you three days of detention… And you, too, Ms. Potter."

"And what is she punished for?" Scorpius fumed, instinctively shielding the girl.

"For encouraging such mischief," Faust nodded at Filch, who was positively sputtering in rage over the loss of such a fine piece of fabric, and walked into the Great Hall.

Malfoy sighed heavily and went to take down the poster. There he was, glad that the slavery was over! Although… doing detention in the company of Lily might turn out to be not so bad after all.


	62. Part VII - Chapter 6 - Hermione Weasley

**I apologize for the delay in posting. Life got a little crazy and for some reason, this chapter just was not coming together. I will try to finish posting Part VII before going on vacation next week. :)**

_**Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley.**_

You gaze into my eyes:

Why keep on with the lies?!

I should just come right out and say it…

(pop song)

The ground-floor kitchen felt warm and even cozy. Hermione has gotten used to coming here.

She sat at the table, close to the candlelight, surrounded by papers and books. The papers were sent over by Kingsley, who asked her to look at them and suggest a plan of further actions. The books she bought today at Flourish and Blotts.

A crashing sound came from upstairs, as if something broke. It must be Ron. He often wandered idly around the house these days, suffering from his forced seclusion.

Hermione pulled toward her the workgroup's status report that Kingsley had prepared for the Minister. "Creating a Ministry werewolf force", "working on the Muggle option", "securing the most important persons and locations", "prophilactic searches and checks". As always, the language was dry and uninformative; and the measures, ineffective.

Hermione set aside the report and searched for the paper titled "The Muggle Option" she was not yet familiar with. She scanned it. It contained information on the location where Amanda Dursley had been sending letters to "Uncle Harry".

She leaned back in her chair, perusing the list of addresses that Aurors had already checked out – like dogs following the trail. Of course, the place at the original address was "vacated" as soon as the werewolves realised that the trap at Hogwarts had failed. At the flat where Amanda's letters had been arriving, the Aurors found the body of the Muggle owner, traces of fur and claws, and several jars with the residue of two potions: Wolfsbane and Polyjuice.

"Of all flats searched that were owned by lone Muggles, three have been determined to bear unmistakable signs of werewolf presence…" According to the testimony of the neighbours and accidental passers-by, the core of the group was made up of six or seven individuals. It was a good thing that these creatures were pretty inept at magic; otherwise, things would be a lot more complicated – dealing with the consequences of Memory or False Memory charms would have been much more time-consuming.

Of the inmates who escaped from Azkaban in August, three were captured by the authorities. Therefore, the three or four "fresh ones" have joined the group since then. An old man was reported to be with them, possibly the Healer who disappeared in early September. He must be the one who was brewing potions for them. All three flats also contained residues of the Wolfsbane and Polyjuice potions.

The last werewolf lair was raided barely a day ago. At this, Hermione pricked up her ears. Everything seemed the same, except that a neighbor had seen a girl walk out of that flat the previous Sunday. A girl "wearing an odd sort of cloak, with a hood o'er her head, but definitely a girl, slender, with delicate hands", according to the witness' description. A girl. Who was she? A werewolf?

There were also leftovers of strange potions found on the stove; neither Wolfsbane nor Polyjuice. The Ministry was currently analyzing their composition.

A girl. A potion. Something was brewing again. But what? And from whence should they expect the new attack?

Hermione set aside the papers and closed her eyes. She had to think; she had to figure it out; she must! Because to wait and hope that they would get lucky once again, that help would arrive in time, was just plain foolish…

Help. Albus.

She reached out and picked up a book in black glossy cover. "Outfield magic." Hermione found the chapter titled "The Name Magic" and began to read.

The door opened noisily and Ron entered the kitchen. He was wearing old faded jeans and a home-made jumper.

"Have you taken the potion today?" Hermione asked, without taking her eyes off the book; she asked that question every day. Her husband didn't respond; he merely pulled up a chair and sat astride it, staring a her. "Ron, have you…?"

"I have."

Hermione looked up at him. He was twiddling a pocket knife with a bored air.

"All right. Do you want anything?"

"Have you anything to offer?" Ron inquired caustically. Hermione hung her head sadly. She just couldn't get used to his new manner of talking, of looking at her; to this altogether new Ron. "What are you reading now?"

"I bought some books on name magic; I want to understand more about the link between people bearing the same names," Hermione turned a page. "You know, it says here that sometime, quite rarely, a child and a person he or she was named after can establish mental communication. Not that there is any hard proof. There was even a case when a gifted wizard, after he was already deceased, passed on his gift of putting up a strong shield to a six-year-old boy. This happened at a critical juncture when the boy was in danger… There is also a known occurrence when a wizard named after someone else began to speak in a language that he had never studied, but of which his namesake had a good command…"

"How ironic… Why wasn't I named Gillert then? Or, at least, Chrysostom?" Ron stuck his knife in the back of the old chair.

"It is not what name you are given, Ron, that is important, but how well it suits you. Plus, it says here that the original bearer of the name has to have agreed to the succession of his name. And, anyway, it is all anecdotal and complicated; the magic is not well-studied; and the whole theory is based on a few cases…"

"Hermione, do me a favor, read silently. I couldn't care less about this…"

Hermione looked up at her husband.

"But, Ron, this is important. Harry…"

"It's Harry again! Harry, everywhere! That's all I hear: Harry this, Harry that…" he jumped to his feet and began dashing about the kitchen.

"But, Ron, he is our friend… We have to help him; it is a difficult time for him. He lost Ginny…"

"_He_ lost Ginny?!" Ron loomed over her, his eye sparkling angrily. She rarely saw her Ron in them anymore. An alien, animal shadow was now lurking in the formerly warm, loving eyes. "He?! And I didn't?! It is all your Harry's fault! He never cherished her! She was always waiting for him! Always worrying! And Harry didn't give a damn! He thought that it was supposed to be that way! It is all his fault! His! His alone! It was he who murdered her!"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and she barely kept from wincing at the fury that he poured right in her face. Ron's cheeks and ears were red, while the knuckles in his clenched hands grew white. He was convulsively gripping a pocket knife in his right hand.

"Ron, what are you saying..?" she moaned, covering his hand with hers; he recoiled from her touch. "You don't really think that…"

"I do! But not you, do you, Hermione?! Saint Harry Potter!" Ron shouted as Hermione watched him warily, aware of what his outburst could lead to. It happened once before, and she had to lock her husband in his room. She was frantically trying to recall where she had put her wand. "Do you think that I do not see, do not sense?! Of course, the silly, naïve Ronnie! I sense it all. Your fear, your nervousness… I even sense his smell on you when you return…"

"Ron, stop this," Hermione whispered, but Ron was past the point of no return. The beast that lurked in the depths of his ravaged soul was breaking free.

"You are thinking about him, aren't you?! Harry, only Harry, always Harry!" he shouted so loudly that a glass on the table split. "He killed Ginny! But still – the sainted Harry! He will always stand between us! The Golden Boy!"

"Ron! You have gone mad!" Hermione cried, no longer able to hold back tears. "How can you?! I was always with you! I loved you more than anyone else! I never stopped thinking and worrying about you! What does Harry have to do with it?!"

Ron walked up to her, and Hermione staggered back. This wasn't her Ron, it was a different person; a terrifying person; a stranger. He gripped her shoulders so hard that it was bound to leave bruises.

"You ply me with potions every evening, so that I would sleep. What do you do then? You go to see him!"

"No," Hermione moaned.

"Yes, my darling! A week ago you came back from visiting him and you smelled of him. And when I was kissing you that night, I could taste another on your lips! I can do that now!"

"Ron, it wasn't what…"

He struck her then, for the first time ever – a swinging blow, dealt with blind, animal fury. Hermione fell, pressing the trembling hand to her broken lip. She looked up at him in amazement, before crying out in terror: Ron, completely out of control, had begun to transform.

Hermione jumped to her feet and ran past her husband, as he was lowering to his front paws with a deep growl. He dashed after her, his claws scratching her legs.

"Ron!" Hermione cried out, running to the door and opening it. He pounced, digging his claws into her shoulders. She darted away, evading his bared teeth, trying not to look into the werewolf's terrifying, yellow eyes. Cloak. Pocket. Wand.

"Incarcero!"

Ropes forced the wolf to fall onto his side, jerking his tied paws. Hermione's wand fell from her weakened hand and she sank to the floor, sobbing silently into her palms. She did not notice blood and her torn clothes. She was looking at Ron who was thrashing on the floor, trying to break free. Her Ron. Yet, this was no longer her husband. "How could you… Ron, I love you… You…"

She pulled her knees to her chest, weeping and afraid to move. The werewolf grew still. In about twenty minutes he started taking human form, until the bindings fell from him, leaving pale Ron lying unrestrained on the floor. He was looking at the weeping Hermione, at her blood-stained white sweater, at her bleeding lip, at the torn trousers. He stood up, staggering a little.

Hermione met his eye. Ron. It was her Ron looking back at her. Looking terror-stricken and frightened. His hands were trembling.

"My God, what have I done..?"

She was silent, shaking, still unable to move.

"What have I done! Hermione…"

He did not attempt to come closer; he simply looked at her. Then he turned around and ran to the door.

"Ron!" She jumped to her feet, ignoring her aching body, and ran after him. "Stop! The Aurors are out there! Ron!"

She was out in the October cold. Some people were running past her, but she was only seeing the spot where her husband had stood a moment ago. He Disapparated.

"RON!"

She stood on the porch, and the Aurors could not see her. Yet, Hermione was not thinking about them.

He was gone. He left. Alone.

She re-entered the house, automatically locked the door and sank to the floor, racked by sobs.

Ron left.

**Yes, this chapter may have come as an unpleasant surprise to some, but, like many story lines in this book, it follows the general idea that certain things in life simply cannot be undone, and certain character traits, when taken to the extreme, hurt people irretrievably. Ron's insecurity and anger have been an issue, on and off,**** for decades, as you may recall from**_** The Goblet of Fire**_**.**


	63. Part VII - Chapter 7 - Teddy Remus Lupin

_**Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin.**_

Marie-Victoire often said that Teddy had a sixth sense that was always spot on. He didn't deny it, although he also tried not to take it too seriously, to avoid becoming paranoid.

Today, however, the sense number six nagged on him non-stop, rendering him unable to focus on anyone or anything. Something was wrong.

"Ted, what is it with you?" Marie waved her hand in front of his face, trying to draw Lupin's attention to her. He smiled distractedly, putting his arm around her shoulders and settling on the couch. Marie put aside the magazine she was reading and eying his face closely. "It feels like you aren't really here."

"I don't know," Lupin replied earnestly, stroking her cheek. She smiled softly, turned her head and kissed his warm palm. "Something is bothering me."

"Again? Your godfather? Grandmother? Little Albus?" she was running her fingers through the blond hair at his crown. "Who needs your care and attention this time?"

Lupin smiled sheepishly at her, knowing that she was right. He spent so much time away from her lately, consumed by Harry's family troubles.

"Forgive me…"

"Oh, Lupin, don't you give me that puppy look," she leaned over and kissed the corner of his lips. "I know full well how kind, caring, and loving you are… It is just that sometimes I think that you take other people's concerns too close to heart."

"It is not that," Teddy frowned. "It is just… as though something happened... Something bad."

"Well, go and find out," Marie-Victoire swept back her wave of blond hair and buttoned the top button on Lupin's shirt. "The way you are now, you are no good to me anyway. Go solve all the world's problems and come back; only make sure that when you return, all your thoughts will be about me, ya hear?"

Teddy momentarily hugged Marie, then got up from the couch and reached for his cloak.

"I hope nothing truly bad has happened," she remarked when Lupin was already on his way to the fireplace. He looked back and blew her a kiss. Marie pretended to catch it in her fist, which she then pressed to her heart, smiling seductively. How could he help not getting back to her as quickly as he could?

His heart pounding against his ribs, Lupin threw the Floo powder into the flames and flew through the Floo network. He came out of the fireplace at Hermione's house and immediately saw Harry, playing chess with Albus. He was clearly losing.

"Hello, Ted," Albus waved at him and, as his father turned to Lupin, deftly switched a few pieces on the board.

"What has you so worried?" Harry said without bothering with hellos, when Teddy sat down on the couch next to Albus.

"I don't know, just a bad feeling… I thought something was up with you."

Harry shook his head, turning back toward the chessboard. Albus was licking a lollypop, waiting patiently for his father's next move.

"How are Ron and Hermione?"

"Dunno," Harry responded, moving his knight. "I haven't seen them in a while."

"Why is that?"

Ted's godfather didn't answer, pretending to be engrossed in the game.

"Al, is it just me or did your bishop use to be further back?" Harry looked at his son suspiciously, making Albus burst out laughing. "You, cheater!"

"No!" the boy trilled with laughter, jumped off the couch and ran to avoid his father's retribution. "This was a war ruse!"

"You know, I think that you borrowed these words somethere," Harry shook his head and his finger at Albus. Then he turned to his godson. "Maybe you are just tired?"

Lupin shook his head, pursing his lips. The feeling of unease persisted.

"I think I'll go check on Hermione."

Harry looked strangely at his godson, but didn't say anything. Lupin was already at the fireplace when his godfather stood up:

"Wait, Ted; I think I shall go check on them also. You go on ahead, and I shall take Al to Mr. Weasley and be right behind you."

Ted nodded, stepped into the fireplace, and soon came out in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. It took him but a moment to realise that something had happened there; his senses didn't failed him. An overturned chair. A broken glass. The door thrown open. Two small dark stains on the floor next to the door. Blood?

Lupin practically flew out into the hallway. He would not have noticed Hermione, curled into a ball by the front door, were it not for her quiet sobs. Ted lit his wand and dropped to his knees next to her, afraid to touch her. It looked to him as though she was all covered in blood. Her clothes were torn, her face tear-stained.

"Where is he?" Teddy asked tonelessly.

"He is gone. He just left," she sobbed, pulling her knees tighter against her chest.

"Did he bite you?" to Lupin's relief, Hermione shook her head. "Can you get up?"

"Hermione!"

Lupin jumped – Harry already arrived. He stood in the kitchen doorway, looking, frightened, at the woman on the floor. Teddy moved aside as his godfather sat next to his friend.

"Did he bite you?"

She shook her head again; tears rolled harder down her face as Hermione lifted her face to Harry.

"He hit you," Harry uttered in disbelief. "Where is he? I'll kill him with my own hands!"

"He is gone," she repeated her reply to Lupin. "He just left. Harry… What shall we do? He may be captured... He is completely out of control…"

"Shh, Hermione, shh," Harry hugged her – gently and carefully, trying not to cause pain. "Don't think about him."

Teddy's godfather lifted Hermione and walked toward the stairs. Lupin followed them after stopping by the kitchen to pour some warm water into a basin and get a towel.

Harry lowered Hermione onto her bed, but she refused to let go of his neck and burst out sobbing again.

"It was as though he had gone mad… as though it was not him at all… He transformed… And then… he left… he was scared."

"Shh, darling, shh," Harry whispered, rocking her. "He will be back; he has always come back. You know how Ron is."

"It is not Ron, not any longer," she shook her head.

Lupin set the basin on the bedside table and handed his godfather the towel. The other nodded, and then drew back from Hermione a little and took her face in his hands.

"We shall find him, or we shall try, at least. And, meanwhile, we need to set you to rights."

She took the towel from Harry:

"I'll do it. Leave me a wand, will you? I don't know where mine is…"

"All right," Harry shrugged his shoulders and handed her his wand; he then stood up and walked to the door. There he looked back: "We'll be downstairs."

Hermione nodded, whispered "Thank you!" to Teddy, and he and his godfather walked out into the darkened hallway.

"Stay here," Harry said curtly when they entered the kitchen. "I shall try to find him – _before_ the Ministry does."

"Do you have any idea where he could have gone?"

Harry shook his head:

"I know where Ron Weasley could have gone. But the Ron I know would never have struck Hermione… Do not leave her alone."

Teddy nodded was soon alone in the kitchen. He picked up the chair and removed shards of glass and drops of blood with his wand. Then he made some coffee.

"Where is Harry?"

Lupin turned around – Hermione was standing in the doorway. She had already changed her clothes; only red eyes and scratched wrists were the reminders of what had happened. She put on a turtleneck and jeans to cover up the claw marks that, Teddy knew, could not be removed with simple magic. Hermione did remove the bruise from her cheek.

"He went to look for Ron. Want some coffee?"

"Ron?! He went alone, without a wand?!" Hermione's hand with Harry's wand in it flew up. She headed right for the fireplace, but Teddy managed to intercept her. The woman winced when Lupin grabbed her injured arm.

"Sorry… But you should not be going anywhere. Sit," Teddy led Hermione to a chair and sat her down; soon he set a coffee cup before her. "You really should have gone to the hospital, but, as I understand it, that is not an option."

"Teddy," she looked up at him, "if Harry finds Ron, one of them shall kill the other."

"Well, I can understand why Harry might want to kill Ron, but what does Ron have against Harry?" Lupin sat down across from Hermione. "Is that what you quarreled about? That's why he lost control, wasn't it? Because of Harry?"

She remained silent, gripping the cup with slightly trembling fingers. Then she took a sip.

"Where is Albus?"

"At Mr. Weasley's," Teddy brought up the tea kettle and added some hot water to her cup. Then he glanced over the papers and books strewn in creative disorder over the far end of the table. "Writing your memoirs?"

"No, I was reading up on the Name Magic. What happened to Al seems to suggest that there is something to it…" Hermione's cheeks now had a little colour, her eyes sparkled, although she was still fingering Harry's wand nervously. "I think that Dumbledore must have known more about it than is written in books."

"I'd say. Harry once said that he often hears Albus say things that sound like something the Headmaster would say, as though Al has them memorized for reuse."

"If Dumbledore really has been visiting Albus in his dreams for several years, it is quite possible…"

Lupin was glad to be able to distract Hermione from heavy thoughts. At the same time, he was frantically searching for a reason for Ron to have hit her. He could imagine Ron doing it during transformation, but then it would have been a paw-print, not a handprint. Yet, he struck Hermione with his hand. What could have happened? Was it possible that his sixth sense hadn't lied to him and his godfather's name was spoken during the fight?

Teddy didn't frequently put his sensations into words. And now he also preferred to distance himself from his feelings regarding the drama that happened here. He really couldn't come up with another adequate term for what had happened, other than "drama".

"Teddy, maybe you can come up with an idea, fresh eye and all," Hermione glanced at the young wizard. "What associations to you get with words 'young witch' and 'Sunday'?"

Lupin smiled, because he didn't even have to think about that:

"Hogsmead."

"Why Hogsmead?"

"Because when Marie-Victoire was still in school and I had graduated, we could only meet on Sundays at Hogsmead. I Apparated there, and we spent together the whole…" he broke off when he saw Hermione's face go white. "What?"

"A girl in a school cloak came to see the werewolves last Sunday. What if she is a student at Hogwarts? Then she could have walked to Hogsmead, Apparate to London, visit the werewolves, and return unnoticed…"

"Hermione, what if this is just a coincidence? It is difficult to find a connection between such disjoint facts…"

"Lupin, has your sixth sense ever failed you?"

"No."

"And what is it telling you now?"

Lupin thought about it:

"That I was the only one who could have put together an unknown girl and Sunday and make a connection to Hogsmead," he shrugged his shoulders.

"Exactly," Hermione was biting her lip. "Precisely. No one else will make that connection. This is what scares me."

Teddy sighed heavily: if they were right, then the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was no longer safe; again. Moreover, how would they find an unknown girl among a hundred female students, taught to Apparate?!


	64. Part VII - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Chapter 8. The Potters.**_

It must have been one of the most incredible detentions Lily had ever had at Hogwarts. There hadn't been all that many to speak of, but still…

Was there such a thing as ordinary pastime when it came to Malfoy?! This most unusual man managed to turn even the library into a place of emotional upheaval and fantasy that the Lily would never forget.

And when she found out Friday night that she and Scorpius would have detention under the guidance and watchful eye of Madam Pince, Lily mentally groaned. In disbelief. In anticipation. In worry; worry about the library.

After dinner, after Madam Pince chased everyone else out of the library, she sat the punished students before stacks of books that had come in during the month. When Scorpius saw them, he looked as though he was going to be physically sick; right onto the new books.

For Lily, the work was quite interesting – entering the book metadata into the special registry, and then put the book into the proper stack, by category. When a stack became tall enough, Scorpius would carry it to the proper section of the library. He was fine with doing that part, while frowning at the paperwork, muttering something about only practicing his calligraphy during Transfiguration class.

For the first fifteen minute, Madam Pince never took her sharp beady eyes off the pair. But seeing Malfoy frowning diligently while deep into a chapter of "Unfogging the Future" and Lily just as diligently filling out the book cards, the librarian went back to her usual work – dusting, putting back the books that students had used during the day, and simply haunting the aisles.

They were silent, although Lily was keenly aware of Scorpius on her left. He was lounging in his chair as his silver gaze poured over the lines. Gradually, a smirk formed on his face, and he turned toward the girl:

"Hey, just listen to this! There is a prophecy here regarding your brother!"

"Meaning?" Lily replied in a muted voice, setting aside yet another tome.

"'Before the next full moon, a wood-goblin shall attempt to pierce the silver crescent with a stake, and the forest people shall know the truth about why the moon hath not come out at night and why it is yellow.' Brilliant, isn't it?" the silver eyes sparkled with merriment, while Lily tried to hold back laughter.

"I have never heard such rubbish in my entire life," she whispered, turning back to the books and index cards. "And what does it have to do with James?"

"Well, did you miss it? A wood-goblin… The Moon coming out – or not coming out – somewhere at night… I can read it over…"

"No," Lily asked, sounding a little choked up, "don't. I didn't even go to Divination, because I was afraid that I would be laughing so hard that Trelawney's beads would shake…"

"Oh, come on," the Slytherin shrugged his shoulders, "people were working hard, raving, and you… Really, I'll have to present one to Potter, as a souvenir."

"Mr. Malfoy, what do you think you are doing?" Madam Pince peered from behind the shelf. "Have you decided to stay here all night?"

"Wouldn't mind it, provided that you were gone, you old book moth," Scorpius muttered under his breath. He then put aside "Unfogging the Future" and began staring at Lily.

"You are embarrassing me," she whispered, her cheeks flushing in confirmation.

"I haven't even begun to embarrass you," Malfoy winked pointedly at her, stood, and picked up a stack of finished books. Walking past Lily, he quickly leaned over and ran his lips over her neck.

Lily started, smearing ink on the almost completed index card, and looked reproachfully after the departing Slytherin. He soon returned, looking very pleased with himself.

He would probably even start to whistle, if not the rustling of Pince's robes nearby.

Scorpius sat down and even picked up the next book. Lily sighed, stifling a smile, yet he was so close that his smell unsettled her with every breath he took.

He made her gasp anew, however, when his hot palm covered her knee. She cast Malfoy a warning glance, but he merely flashed her an innocent smile:

"This is the library, have you forgotten? I am putting it to proper use…"

Lily drew a laboured breath, realising that it was getting much harder for her now to focus on the book description. Even through her skirt she could feel the warmth of his hand. She had hoped that he was not going to do something like that tonight, yet, being a Malfoy, what did she expect?!

In order to stop his hand's slow progress upward – very tender and deliberate – Lily had to put her own hand under the table. He immediately gripped her fingers and began tracing patterns along the back of her hand.

"Scor… please…" she breathed, slowly raising her eyes to his. The quill froze over the index card. "Otherwise, we shall be here till midnight."

He smiled cunningly and removed his hand, picking up his quill and getting to work. This sped up their efforts, and they were ready to leave in another hour.

The hallways were empty, which Scorpius exploited blatantly, pulling Lily into the closest dark corner. He pressed her against the wall and kissed her as though her kiss was his lifeline. He didn't let his hands roam, however – on the contrary, he kept them pressed against the wall, as if he feared that, should he touch Lily, he would lose all control over his already raging hormones.

Lily ran her fingers through his cool, slightly coarse hair. She pulled back a little, realising that in another moment her knees would buckle and she would literally hang onto him.

"Lil, when is your birthday?" he whispered, buring his face in the crook of her neck, and becoming very still.

"December seventh."

Scorpius groaned and forced himself to draw back. He then took a step toward the well-lit hallway, pulling her along.

"You think, it's time to prepare already?" Lily smiled, taking his hand. "Thinking about what to give me for a present?"

"Something like that," Scorpius replied vaguely. They turned toward the stairs and immediately bumped into a Slytherin boy. Lily had seen him a couple of times, but he appeared to be a senior. Raven black hair, and a slightly disdainful grin on his face.

"Wow, look who we have here," the Slytherin stared at Lily and Malfoy, crossing his arms. "Enjoying each other while there's still time, aren't we? Oh, well, you should have enough of it till Christmas… I don't think that Priscilla shall tolerate your mistresses afterwards."

"If you don't shut your trap this instant, your girlfriend will have to tolerate the absence of all your teeth," Scorpius snarled, squeezing Lily's hand.

"You are brave now, Malfoy, but we'll see what you sing when your daddy comes over, upon learning of your affairs," the Slytherin looked over the Gryffindor with a nasty expression; she stared back at him in contempt.

"You know, Zabini, the fact that you lick _your_ daddy's boots and serve as an errand boy for your mummy, does not means that the rest of us are just such slugs as you," Malfoy snorted with all the haughtiness he could muster. His face exuded an air of aristocratic superiority.

Scorpius walked past the Slytherin, holding Lily close.

"Who was that?" she looked back when they had gone up two flights of stairs.

"Fritz Zabini, the youngest of Priscilla's brothers," Malfoy answered reluctantly. His eyes, only a short time before filled with molten silver, now reflected light like a sheet of ice.

"The youngest? Does she have older brothers, too?"

"One. He graduated two years ago," they were slowly walking toward the Gryffindor tower. "Nasty type, was fond of harassing little girls, which earned him numerous thrashings by guys from all Houses, including even Hufflepuff. I seem to remember my father saying that he owned several stores for potion makers… I hope that one day a cauldron will explode and spit something poisonous right in his face."

"You are so kind, Scorpius…"

They stopped by the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Scor…"

"Mmm?" he was holding her hand and looking into her eyes, smiling slightly.

"What will happen when you tell your father that you do not agree to the engagement with Zabini?" the Gryffindor asked cautiously, pressing his hand in both of hers. "Only tell me seriously, please, no joking."

"Seriously? I don't know," he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, although Lily knew that he was not indifferent at all. "You know, I thought about that once. And I realised that I was not a normal bloke."

"Why?" the girl had lost his train of thought.

"Well, imagine that someone made you choose between James and me – who would you choose?"

She frowned, biting her lip, her eyes downcast.

"I wouldn't have been able to choose," she admitted honestly. "It would be easier to kill me by splitting me in two equal halves."

"You see, you are a normal person," Malfoy smiled sadly. "And I am not normal. Because when my father demands that I make a choice (and he will surely do that) between Malfoys and Potters – I shall not even require time to think. The choice will be an easy one and it will not be in favor of my family. My own family, you understand…"

Lily pulled him toward her and held him close, stroking his back. The Slytherin gripped her tighter, his head on her fragile shoulder.

"You are normal, Scor. The problem is not you, but your family; trust me, I can see it better as a looker-on," she pressed her lips to his silver temple. "You are not simply normal – you are the best, the most beautiful person. As wonderful as James. And in some ways, even better. You are a silver man, Scorpius Malfoy, and I love you."

He flinched, as if from a blow, in her arms, carefully touched her chin with his fingers and gazed riveted into her light-green eyes with slightly dilated pupils. He looked as though he couldn't believe that he had heard her correctly.

"I love you," she repeated and Scorpius leaned over to kiss her. She had never experienced anything like it: the kiss was so tender, so touchingly slow and caressing that Lily felt as though her heart would burst, overflowed with emotion, from this slow, amost tormenting caress.

"Sorry to bother you, but how long shall I have to wait for the password?" the Fat Lady intervened, after clearing her throat tactfully, looking almost patronizingly as the two young people forced themselves apart.

"Go," he nudged her toward the entrance. She couldn't rip her eyes away from his, because for the first time they were not silver, but almost black. "Good night."

"Yorkshire pudding," Lily said the password and disappered in the opening, after casting one last glance at Scorpius.

"Too chicken to respond, little boy?" the Fat Lady grinned knowingly at the Slytherin. "She was waiting for it, you know."

The Slytherin merely shrugged his shoulders and headed for the dungeons, only one thought spinning inside his head: no one had ever said those words to him before. Nobody. Ever.

…The evening was unusual, as unusual as the feeling of peace and warmth inside Scorpius Malfoy. He sat on the windowsill in the darkened niche on the fourth floor, looking out at the dark forest outside. His head was completely empty. He was simply smiling into the dark, and even a spider crawling along the sash failed to irritate the Slytherin.

"… they cannot know," a quiet voice carried over to Malfoy. The voice was familiar, and Scorpius instantly felt overtaken with disdain and antipathy. He was about to jump off the windowsill, when the owner of the voice appeared from around the corner – Theodic Mancilli; and Xenia Verdi next to him.

Malfoy froze in place, unable to believe his eyes. They couldn't see him in the darkness shrouding this end of the hallway; yet, he could see them perfectly. It was almost midnight; what could these two be doing walking around the sleeping school?

"Better do it at night; that way no one will know…"

Xenia nodded assent. The two turned toward the staircase, while Malfoy remained seated as though hit with the _Petrificus Totalus_ spell; he could only gasp for air. _Xenia! No, this can't be…_

Scorpius shook his head, unwilling to think of Xenia and her strange promenades with the beak-nosed goblin on a day like this.

After ten minutes of blissful reminiscing of Lily he succeeded in recapturing the sense of total and weightless euphoria, as though he had been lifted up into the air and left there; left on a cloud; on a soft white cloud.

The clock showed half past one in the morning when Malfoy decided that he had had enough dreaming for one night. Why would he, when he could actually go and visit Lily. Maybe he could even tell her how grateful he was to her. Tell her how much it meant to him. She would understand, she had to…

Malfoy quickly pressed against the suit of armor to evade discovery. He stopped breathing; in fact, he forgot how to do it altogether. Because right before his very eyes Theodic Mancilli and Xenia Verdi exited the Gryffindor tower, their faces looking tired, yet oddly serene.

**Ok, folks, herein completes Part VII! The end of the chapter is a big cliffhanger, with interesting new magic coming up. I will be away come Monday, but I hope to start posting Part VIII before I go. Any comments are welcome.**


	65. Part VIII - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**All right, I am back. This is the start of Part VIII. Enjoy!**

_**Chapter 1. James Potter.**_

"Get up, Potter!"

_No way. Leave me alone._

"Potter, you'll miss breakfast!"

James stirred unhappily. _Who needs breakfast on a Saturday morning?!_

"Jim, are you still asleep?" said Lily's soft voice next to his bed. "Wake up, sleepyhead, I thought you were planning to fly with Scorpius."

The Gryffindor sighed in exasperation and opened his eyes. The gloom of an October day did not improve his mood any. If only his head did not feel so… alien. As if someone threw a party in it last night and forgot to clean up the mess.

"Are you feeling well?" his sister was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a warm sweater and blue jeans. Her cheeks were unusually flushed.

"Not too hot. Do you know if Malfoy and I happened to get sloshed last night and I simply don't remember it?" James reached toward his bedside table for his watch and fumbled with the buckle.

"Not as far as I know," Lily smiled softly, helping him with the watch. "Jim, I wanted to ask you…"

"Go ahead, but first turn around – I need to get dressed," the Gryffindor fought out of his blanket. His sister sat so that she could only see the canopy over his bed while he searched the room for his clothes.

"Tell me, has Scorpius ever told you anything about his family? You know, about his childhood or his parents?"

James pulled on his jeans and was buckling his belt:

"Of course. He told me all about singing at children's parties, waltzing, playing the harp, taking horse-riding lessons, and other nonsense. He also spoke about swimming in the Malfoy Manor pond, where his father bred piranhas; you know, small fish, very voracious… And other small stuff like that…"

"James, I am serious," Lily insisted, her voice sad.

"You can turn back now," the chap adjusted the collar of his sweater and took his wand from the bedside table. "Seriously, you have to talk to him, because I am not sure I should divulge his little family secrets. Sorry."

"He told you then, right?" Lily said pensively as they walked out of the room and hurried down the stairs to the Great Hall. "Tell me one thing only: were his parents cruel to him?"

"Cruel? No, they didn't beat him or punish him physically; at least, I don't know anything about it," James stepped aside to let his sister onto a secret staircase to save time.

Lily bit her lip and didn't respond. James didn't say anymore, nor did he want to. Why? Malfoy was always so sparing in talking about his life at home. Sparing and reluctant. However, it was clear from his rare and passing remarks that being the Malfoy heir was very different from being the oldest son of Harry Potter.

He and Lily had already entered the crowded Great Hall. James went over to the Slytherin table as usual. Malfoy and Xenia sat side by side, neither speaking or even looking at one another. Did they have a row?

"Hello," Xenia smiled at him. James winked at her, remembering the evening in Lily's room. He hoped that his sister would never learn of the use to which James put her bed.

Scorpius raised his, by all indications underslept face, to look at his friend, and waved.

"Malfoy, what were you doing all night, pray tell?" James' eyes narrowed.

"Listen Potter, if you are about to put forth yet another original idea on what I did or didn't do last night, I am warning you right now – I am not too proud to knock your lights right out in front of all the peds. And I don't give a flying broomstick about getting detention – it's not like I am not used to it by now," Malfoy picked up an apple and bit into it while looking around at the Gryffindor table, grinning slyly. James also looked around and saw Lily talking to the upset-looking Rose Weasley.

"I simply asked; what if I am concerned for you?" James snorted, glancing at Xenia. She was smiling back at him. "Xenie, what about you - up with Malfoy as well? He was having nighmares and you were holding his hand?"

She fixed him with a cold stare and resumed her breakfast.

"No, not mine," answered Malfoy with suspicious levity, playing with the apple in his hand. "Are you going to spend all morning interrogating us about last night or will you go and eat already? It is you who won't have the strength to lift your broomstick…"

"Malfoy, do you care about me? How touching," James grinned at his friend and walked to his table. He set between Lily and Hugo and enthusiastically attacked eggs, while paying close attention to the conversation between his sister and his cousin.

"It seems to me that you are simply tired… You two will talk later and everything will sort itself out…," Lily was trying to comfort Rose (or, at least sounded like she was). The other girl merely shrugged her shoulders, not much enthused.

"Rosie, did you dump Williams?" James butted into the conversation, while stuffing half a sandwich in his mouth at once.

"James, how unceremonious you are," Lily reproached him, while Rose merely moved her shoulder.

"I just asked, what's wrong with that?"

"I didn't dump him; we had a row," Rise averted her eyes and blushed.

"And why did you dump the best student in his year, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and an all-around poster boy?" James grinned as his sister glared daggers at him. "What? She doesn't have to tell me if she doesn't want to."

"It's just that he wanted to spend the day with me today and I said that I couldn't," Rose picked up a goblet with pumpkin juice, but she didn't drink it.

"And why can't you?" James was genuinely intrigued now, despite the fact that he must have a bruise on his ribs from Lily's elbow jabs. "The library?"

Rose shook her head and got to her feet:

"I have to go; see ya."

James followed his cousin with his eyes and then looked at Lily with suspicion:

"Well, well, well… What are these Astronomy tower mysteries?"

"I don't know; she wouldn't say," his sister looked a little angry. "Why did you have to butt in with your interrogation at all?"

"Can't even ask a little question, huh?" James chortled. "I hope that she and Williams make up by our game with the Slytherins; otherwise, he will get all mushy and be a hoop instead of a Keeper."

"You only think of your own benefit," Lily shook her head.

"And whose benefit should I think of instead?" the Gryffindor grinned, pushing back his plate and rubbing his stomach contentedly. "Well, now I can go outside. Will you go with us?"

"You know that I don't like flying," the girl turned around. James also spotted Malfoy and Xenia walking toward them. "All right, you talked me into it…"

The four of them walked out into the slightly frosty air. The chaps wore light-weight jackets, while the girls opted for warm school cloaks.

James screwed up his eyes in delight. It was Saturday, no classes. He was about to mount his broomstick. He was holding hands with the girl he loved. His head no longer felt alien. Ahhh…

He looked around at Lily and Malfoy who fell back a little. Something was happening between those two; even a niffler could see it. They just looked strange. S-t-r-a-a-n-g-e. It was as if a wave of something just emanated from this couple, especially when they were close to each other.

"Xenie, did you and Malfoy have an argument, by chance?" James' thoughts returned to his girlfriend. She also looked a little odd, but he couldn't put a finger on exactly what it was.

"No, we just disagreed on something," she said light-heartedly.

The foursome approached the Quidditch pitch. The foursome. Yes, James was very aware today that the group that had previously only included Malfoy and himself, now doubled in size. Was it good or bad? He'd be damned if he knew – in some ways it was good; in others – might be bad. After all, a group that included girls differed radically from purely male company…

"Will you be flying?" James asked when they came to the edge of the pitch.

"Are you crazy?" Xenia looked at the Gryffindor in amazement. "I don't know how…"

"Huh?" James was taken aback. "What do you mean, you don't know how?"

"I mean just that," she laughed, looking at the expression on his face. "I once got on it and almost killed myself; it was a good thing that I didn't get far off the ground. Therefore, I will just sit and watch..."

"Let me teach you," James lit up with enthusiasm at once, because the concept of "not knowing how to fly" was so alien to him.

"No, Merlin save me," Xenia kissed the corner of his mouth. "I would rather be admiring you."

"All right," not that he planned to give up on that. How can it be that she didn't know how to fly broomstick?! He wouldn't let the matter rest. "Lil, you at least will fly, won't you?"

"No, I don't want to," the girl smiled and also headed for the stands. "Just be careful and don't show off too much before us. I think that both Xenia and I know full well that you are the best and the fastest; there is no need to looping loops and diving…"

James turned angrily toward Malfoy who was trying not to laugh.

"What's so funny?" James snorted when the two of them were walking toward the lockers to pick up their broomsticks.

"Well, she said all that for your benefit," Scorpius took his broomstick out of the fastenings and stroked it almost lovingly. "Because you will certainly be showing what a great and mighty Quidditch player you are; better than anybody else; definitely better than any Slytherin amateur…"

"Malfoy, your relationship with my sister seems to have a bad impact on you. You have lost your former knack for expressing your dirty thoughts," James took off his jacket, wrapped a scarf around his neck, put on his gloves, and walked outside, his broomstick on his shoulder.

Xenia and Lily sat at the very top of the stands. They waved to the chaps, smiling, and James shot upwards into the air.

Good… The wind was tugging at his unruly hair; his head became unbelievably light and empty. Dark wilted grass lay far below him. The gloomy sky above him seemed so close. And the freedom seemed absolute.

"Potter, they won't let you into an angel corps, even if you sew on wings. Therefore, change your facial aspect," Malfoy slowed down beside him, holding on to his broomstick with one hand. "How about scaring our personal fans a little?"

James looked back at the girls and smiled. He then turned his broomstick sharply downward. He heard Malfoy flying next to him, trying to block the Gryffindor's way. James, however, always managed to shift directions to stay away from Scorpius. They spiraled down, banked, flew upward, and dove again. The wind whistled in their ears and their hearts beat wildly from adrenaline.

At one point Malfoy managed to block James' path and their broomsticks bumped against each other. Both shrank back, struggling to stay in the air. Scorpius, apparently not expecting to actually catch up with James, slid off his broomstick and hung, holding on to it with both hands.

James immediately flew up to him and helped the Slytherin climb back onto the broomstick. Both were grinning: it was not their first brush with danger. They turned toward the stands.

"Damn!" Scorpius cursed and immediately dove toward the ground, because he saw that Lily, either too upset or too angry at them, was hurrying off the pitch, clutching her wand.

James flew up to Xenia – she too was angry; her cold stare was directed straight at the Gryffindor:

"It is not enough for you that werewolves are hunting your family. You decided to put your life at risk just for the fun of it, while scaring your sister who had barely begun to calm down a bit, didn't you?"

He landed on the bench right in front of the Slytherin, put aside his broomstick, and smiled guiltily:

"I didn't think that she would take it so hard… We were just flying; we always fly this way…"

"It is a wonder then that you are both still unscathed, because I counted at least three instances when one or both of you could have crashed and been broken to pieces…"

"Xenie, you don't know how to fly," James began, in an attempt to pacify her. "How can you know…"

"The fact that I can't fly does not mean that I do not have eyes," the girl was pale, but her eyes sparkled as though she had just alighted from the broomstick herself. "I just don't understand why you guys have to constantly risk your lives! What is it that is missing in them?"

"Enough already, I am right shamed," the Gryffindor sat down next to her. "Forgive me…"

"Oh, you are not ashamed at all, because you like all this stuff," Xenia said sadly, turning toward him. "I just can't understand why people like doing mad things that can ultimately lead to the Healers having to piece their bodies back together again…"

"My god, Xenia, this is beginning to sound like paranoia," he put his arm lightly around her shoulders. But she only looked him in the eyes.

"No, it is not paranoia. It is just that…" she was searching for words, "when you dedicate your life to saving people, you perceive things around you much sharper… I see people prance toward their peril, smiling as though it is just a game or a joke. Do you see?"

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to upset you like this," James hugged her closer to him, unsure what was the matter today with the always calm and level-headed Xenia.

"All right," she touched her lips to his cheek, "I am sorry that I jumped down your throat like this…"

"You jumped down my throat?" he grinned. "No, it is Malfoy who is now catching hell. I'll bet that his throat is in true jeopardy at the moment. Knowing my sister…"

"Yes," Xenia nodded," Lily is Fire."

"Meaning?"

"Well, according to one theory, each person's soul is attracted to one of the basic substances: Water, Air, Earth, or Fire. Your sister is a typical Fire: inconsistent, impulsive, feels deeply…"

"And I?" James became curious.

"You are Water," she smiled. "That is why you and she are so close…"

"And Malfoy?"

"Air, and in its most extreme form, too," Xenia stood up and pulled James with her. "It is cold, let's go to the castle."

"I see. I am Water, Malfoy – Air, Lily – Fire. You must be Earth then," he concluded.

"I am," the girl said simply. "Nature always seeks completeness and balance. Where there is water – there is land; where there is fire – there is air that feeds the fire."

"Do they teach you this at the Academy?"

Xenia nodded, taking his hand:

"I told you – Soul Healers are no ordinary healers. We do not treat with spells and potions; we heal using our knowledge about souls…"

James heaved a heavy sigh:

"You know, I prefer the History of Magic; it is much more clear and simple."

She laughed.


	66. Part VIII - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

**Hello, everyone! I apologize for the delay in putting forth this chapter. I was having a translator's block and finally decided to skip the stubborn poem in the beginning of the chapter and do it when the block goes away. Now that the vacation season is over, I will resume the previous pace of posting (or strive to).**

**Anyway, some readers will probably say "Finally!.." at the end of this chapter. :) If only it was that simple! Enjoy...**_**  
**_

_**Chapter 2. Lily Potter.**_

"Lily, wait, please…"

The last word proved effective. The girl stopped almost at the stairs leading to the castle, but she didn't turn around. _What an idiot… Idiots, both of them!_ Her heart was still beating wildly with fear.

"I'd have never thought that anyone in the Potter family would react this way to flying a broomstick," a soft voice said next to her ear. Lily turned around and glared at Malfoy.

"Oh, is that what it was?" she asked caustically. "And there I was, thinking that we were simply witnessing a show thrown by two peacocks, engaged in a train fanning contest!"

"Peacocks can't fly," Scorpius pointed out, leaning on his broomstick.

"Really? Thank you for that bit of trivia," Lily turned abruptly and ran up a few stairs, before Malfoy caught up with her and grabbed her hand.

"Enough, Lily, please," he asked, looking into her angrily narrowed green eyes. "It just so happened."

"Just so happened? Well, in that case, I am sorry that it didn't just so happen that you both broke your silly necks; all of Hogwarts would have rejoiced at such a happening!"

"Merlin, we were just horsing around!"

"Well, go ahead and continue doing just that…" She wanted to leave, because she was terribly angry at him, but her hand was trapped in Malfoy's firm grip. "Let me go."

"No," he shook his head. "First stop being so angry."

"Let me go!"

"Not until you calm down…"

"And then what?" Lily retorted, punching him in the chest with her free hand. Their tenderness of yesterday now seemed all but an illusion. "Will you want me to bring along bandages next time, just in case?! Do you even know what this frolicking of yours looks like to an observer?!"

The passing-by students showed keen interest in Malfoy and Lily's row. The girl didn't care though, because she had had too big a scare; too big. Her heart was still beating like a rabbit's; because her brother and her beloved had almost killed themselves for nothing.

Malfoy, however, didn't seem to be as oblivious to the stares.

"Oh, you Potters like get so dramatic …" he suddenly pulled Lily close; threw his leg over the broomstick; and the next moment Lily realised with horror that her feet were no longer on the ground. She clutched her arms around the Slytherin's neck and gave a squeak as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Wh… what are you doing, Malfoy? Get down, immediately!"

"Calm down, I am holding you," indeed, his one hand was wrapped firmly around her waist; still, Lily kept her eyes closed, afraid to even imagine how high in the air they must be. Blood was pulsing in her temples; her hands went numb.

"Scorpius…" she could barely breathe. "Please, get down…"

"Merlin," he whispered in her ear, "Lily, you are afraid of heights, aren't you..?"

Lily merely pressed herself closer to him. He shifted her slightly so that she sat on the broomstick sideways and held her close to his chest. Lily put her arms around his neck, biting her lip.

"Scorpius…"

He must have understood how terrified she was, because a moment later her feet touched solid surface. Her eyes flew open and she hastily stepped away from the broomstick. Her hands were trembling.

Lily didn't want to meet Malfoy's eyes and so she looked around. She was at the top of the Astronomy Tower. It was tall. The girl stepped away from the edge, unsure of what she could grip for support.

Scorpius leaned his broomstick against the railing and quickly stepped toward Lily who was shaking like a leaf. She grasped his hand as if it was a lifeline and pressed close, her recent rage all but forgotten.

"Forgive me, I didn't know," was all Malfoy could think of saying, stroking her back soothingly. "It simply didn't occur to me that you could be afraid of heights…"

"A lot of things aren't occurring to you today, it seems," she muttered, calmer now that she was in his arms. If she didn't look around or think of where they were, it was tolerable. Yet, once she conquered her fear, she instantly realised that her heart would continue to pound regardless, because each breath filled her with his smell. The green sweater pressed against her face was pleasantly cool.

"Well, you can beat me up if you wish," the Slytherin permitted graciously, pulling the cap off her head and kissing the top of her head. Her red hair flared in the wind.

"I want to get down from here," Lily asked, and Malfoy immediately led her to the door.

"Your broomstick," she reminded him when they got to the stairs.

"I'll get it later; it has anti-hijacking charms on it," Scorpius waved his hand dismissively, his other arm around Lily's waist, supporting her down the winding stairs. "How do you do in the Astronomy class?"

"Professor Slughorn gave me a special potion and I take a little before every Astronomy class," Lily confessed and even breathed in relief when they entered the hallway.

"I just can't put it all together in my head. The brave Lily Potter is afraid of heights… And what about the flying lessons during the First Year?"

"I never took them. I was exempted. My father came down especially to make the arrangements."

"So you can't fly a broomstick?" Scorpius asked in disbelief.

"Of course, I can," Lily sounded a little offended. "My father taught me; he thought that I needed to know how, just in case…"

"But how?"

"The potion. The same one that I take for the Astronomy class. But back then I had to take a lot more of it and it may be harmful if taken frequently," they were walking along the seventh floor now. "I mastered the basics, that's all."

"It appears that your dear brother is ignorant of this, isn't he?" Scorpius grinned as they started down another flight of stairs.

"Yes, because my father gushed at him time and again about what a brilliant flyer I was," Lily smiled warmly. "Dad knew that James would either crack jokes at me or try to force me to overcome it… It couldn't possibly end well."

Lily felt Scorpius come to an abrupt stop.

"What?"

"Listen…" he glanced first at her and then at the hallway that ran along the sixth floor. "May I redress the wrong that I did you?"

"How?" the girl asked warily.

"Come," he pulled her with him down the hallway and stopped before the familiar painting of the hippogriff. Scorpius closed his eyes for a moment, as though visualizing or remembering; or maybe asking the Room of Requirement for something, Lily thought. The Slytherin bowed to the hippogriff. Lily also went through the necessary ritual.

And then she entered the room and gasped:

"Wow…"

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. This was real.

"Scor… how…?"

"Yesterday, after you left, I couldn't sleep," Malfoy stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, "and I decided to stop by here. And everything was just like this… well, no, the snow was actually white…"

Lily stepped forward, and the snow went up to her knees. Silver snow. Warm snow. Soft as down. As far as her eyes could see there spread the carpet of silver snow. And the snow-capped dark-green firs. Instead of the ceiling – low, grey sky.

The smell of conifer. The soft – warm! – snow under her feet. It was neither cold nor hot in there.

"I walked around here yesterday… The forest is not infinite, it's just an illusion," Scorpius told Lily quietly, following her. "The wall is made to appear the extension of the forest. The same must be with the ceiling…"

"Scor…" she found his hand, "what was it that you asked the Room of Requirement for that it became… like this?" Lily couldn't believe her eyes. The smell of conifer. The firs. The silver snow.

He merely smiled, but didn't reply. She didn't insist on the answer because she was overwhelmed with emotions, and she wasn't trying to think. Lily took off her cloak and gloves and threw then in the snow. The air she breathed deeply was so fresh, and her heart beat in sweet anticipation.

"I am glad that you like it," Malfoy whispered. He also took off his cap, scarf and gloves. He bent down, picked up a handful of snow and poured it onto Lily's head.

She laughed, brushing the warm silver off her face. She also bent down and – wonder of wonders! – she managed to make a snowball out of the unusual matter. The snowball hit the Slytherin's squarely on the chest. He laughed and scooped up some snow as well, while Lily ran for cover.

Everything seemed unreal. She felt carefree, for the first time in a long while.

Malfoy sneaked up on her – the snowball collided softly with Lily's shoulder. She turned, her hair whipping around, but the Slytherin had already hid among the trees.

She found him a couple of minutes later – by stepping on him. Malfoy cleverly buried himself in the snow next to one of the tallest firs. Lily ouched and jumped back before he managed to grab her, and then started throwing snow on him as he was trying to get out of it.

Once he got to his feet, eyes sparkling, smiling rapaciously, all covered in silver, Lily ran from him, laughing. He caught up with her after a few steps, put his arms around her and brought her down in the snow, landing on top of her.

She smiled up at him, trying to catch her breath.

"Silver Man," she whispered, touching the face above her. "It is the best sight I've seen in my life…"

"It's just a forest," he drew back a little, not to crush her with his weight.

"Have you seen many forests inside castles, and with silver snow?" she thrust her fingers in his hair. The snow tickled her exposed neck.

"I don't know why it became this way…" Scorpius scooped some snowflakes and they glittered in the air, settling over Lily's hair and face. "Must be because of you…"

He leaned down and kissed her silver-dusted cheeks, then her cheekbones, went down to her chin, and Lily suddenly gasped as his tongue possessed her mouth.

He kissed Lily, holding her head firmly in his hands, and she understood with crystal clarity what was about to happen. Not because he wanted it, but because it was… right.

Lily reached out and for the first time slid her hands under Malfoy's sweater. He dragged his lips away from her mouth, breathing heavily.

"Don't," he tried to pull back, but she wouldn't let him. "Lil, you don't understand…"

"I understand," she whispered, slowly inching up the hem of his sweater. He closed his eyes, as if fighting something inside him, but Lily didn't leave him a chance, sliding her hands down his back. Scorpius shuddered and looked at her. The eyes she loved were full of molten silver.

"I swore… To wait for you to turn sixteen…" he exhaled, but did not resist when she took off his sweater. Lily gulped, looking at his pale skin against the silver snow.

"Swore to whom?" she raised her head and timidly kissed a birthmark on his shoulder.

"Myself," he sounded resigned, and Lily understood that he was surrendering, as his fingers began to undo the buttons on her sweater. The girl looked at his pale skin and then reached out and traced the scar on his forearm:

"Is this from the werewolf?"

He nodded and then took off her sweater. Lily felt his heart pounding in his chest, heard his heavy breathing as he looked at her body clad in jeans and a T-shirt. Yet, she didn't feel any fear or shame. She simply reached up and kissed the scar on his shoulder.

Was it just her or was it becoming darker? No, it wasn't just her. Twilight descended on the forest, and stars appeared in the enchanted firmament.

"What else do you want?" Scorpius whispered, touching his lips to her neck. "Birds of paradise singing? The moon?"

"A fire," Lily whispered back, caressing his back again. And almost at once, a dancing flame sprung up close by. "And now I wish to become yours."

"All right, little fire," he breathed, moving closer and kissing her again on the lips.

Lily felt as though she suddenly found herself inside a fairy tale. Because, although she had dreamed of this, she never believed it would come true.

There were his caring, hot hands that took off her clothes. There were his lips giving her new sensations. There was his smell and his breath.

The reflections of the fire playing across his pale skin. Fire and ice. Silver on their bodies. Silver in his eyes. His hands again. His lips. Her lips. Their mingled breathing.

Fire was casting whimsical shadows all around them. His eyes became nearly black. Her eyes grew darker. Soft snow was falling on their heated skin.

She had never felt like that before; so acutely; so oddly. She had never felt this.

There was pain. Sweet pain.

"Scor…" she breathed into his mouth through her tears.

And there was love that made Lily feel as though her heart would burst.

"I love you…" she whispered in his ear, pressing against his heated body, gleaming in the fire light.

Fire played with the silver in his hair. His white skin seemed almost translucent. It was mesmerizing, making everything seem even more unreal.

His breath was her breath. His heartbeat matched hers.

The shadow theater from the fire raging nearby was play acting against the backdrop of their bodies.

And on them from above, from all the way up to the stars, silver snow was falling.


	67. Part VIII - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

_**Chapter 3. Harry Potter.**_

He stepped out of the fireplace of the house at Grimmauld Place just as the dawn was breaking. He felt utterly exhausted, was dying to sleep, and his facial muscles felt frozen in place. And he still didn't know where Ron was and whether he was all right.

Harry saw the faces of Hermione and Teddy turned up toward him. He merely shook his head. Hermione got to her feet and embraced her friend, hiding her face in his cloak, slightly damp with autumn drizzle. Harry hugged her in a familiar gesture, while looking over her head at Lupin. Teddy gave him a slight nod, got to his feet with barely any sound, and went to the fireplace.

"If anything new comes up, let me know."

Harry merely closed his eyes in assent. He could no longer speak. Yet, he had to console Hermione somehow.

"No one saw him. He didn't show up anywhere we could have expected. No sign of him at the Ministry. I went everywhere he could have found refuge…"

"He is afraid of himself. He won't go to anyone he loves," Hermione shook her head, pulling away and resuming her seat at the table. "Harry, are you hungry?"

"Yes, I would eat something. Just don't go into any trouble, I'll be content with a sandwich," he could barely keep his head up. They were silent while Hermione cut bread and bacon and poured hot tea into a teacup with a green trim.

While Harry was chewing mechanically, Hermione stared, unseeing, at the fire in the hearth.

"Your wand," Hermione held it out to him over the table. As Harry took it from her, he touched her fingers – they were cold. He quickly looked up and met her dull, sad stare.

"Hermione, I shall do everything in my power to protect him."

"I know… And yet, sometimes it seems to me that we no longer have any hand in his fate. And neither does he…"

"Why did he strike you?" Harry put down his cup and looked her straight in the eye. Hermione looked away. "What happened?"

"He lost control…"

"Did you have a row?"

The woman nodded, stood up, went over to Harry, and poured more hot water into his cup. He caught her hand and forced her to face him.

"Will you tell me?"

"He misses Ginny terribly…" Hermione put down the tea kettle and went back to her chair. Harry noticed that she avoided looking at him. Ron…

"He is blaming me for everything, isn't he?" Harry asked almost dispassionately, causing Hermione glance quickly at him.

"No, not…"

"You are lying," he said suddenly. She flushed. The corner of Harry's lips twitched. "You are lying…"

"What makes you think so?"

"I have known you for twenty seven years, Hermione. Even an idiot like me would have caught up after all that time…" he watched fixedly as Hermione tucked in a stray lock of hair with trembling fingers. She always did that, twenty seven years ago, and ten, and five, and today. "So, Ron blamed me roundly for everything that happened. Well, he is not far from the truth…"

"Harry, no!" she stood up again, went over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. Her eyes were still chocolate brown, but the look in them was tired and somehow hopeless. Her world was collapsing as well. Because of him. "It is not your fault!"

"Don't, Hermione," he pushed away her hands and turned away. "It was you who told me that I had to warn Ginny against the danger, but I didn't listen to you. You were right – I did behave just like Dumbledore. And with exactly the same result… Ron was right, about everything…"

She sat down next to him; he felt her eyes on him.

"I spent too little time with her… I worked all the time; I concealed a lot from her… I thought that was how it had to be," he didn't notice Hermione flinch and reach for him, but stop short and drop her arms. Harry was twirling the cup in his hands. He had to talk to someone in order not to go mad with overwhelming guilt. "She spent all that time waiting, waiting, waiting… And she never reproached me, never objected… She simply loved me as I was not able to love her…"

"Harry," Hermione did take his hand then, but she was not able to say anything. What could she say when he knew that this was just how it had been?

"Harry, you loved Ginny, and she knew it. She was happy with you, trust me," Hermione gently stroked his hair. "And Ron said all that because it hurt him too to lose her. You know Ron, though – he always tries to find someone on whom to take out his pain. I don't believe that he really… It was fate…"

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet. He realised where Ron was to be found. He hadn't thought of it before because he wouldn't let himself think about that place. Yet now he realised that if Ron could be found, it would be only there.

"Harry, where are you off to?"

"I know where he could be," he put his wand in his pocket and turned toward her. Hermione looked worried. "Don't fret. I shall be back, and, hopefully, not alone. Stay here, okay?"

She nodded. Harry hurried into the hall, then onto the front porch, and Disapparated from the steps.

He recalled this place vaguely. Gravestones. Statues. Yet, he immediately found a spot where his Ginny lay. And, indeed, Ron was there. He sat by the tombstone, his face buried in his hands. His red hair fell over his face and blew slightly in the wind.

"I knew you would come," Ron said tonelessly, not even bothering to lift his head. "It is no use, though. I shall not come back."

Harry walked up to his wife's grave, touched his fingers on the etching that spelled "Ginny Potter", and sat down next to his friend, trying not to look at the gravestone. He didn't think that he would be back here so soon, while the gaping wound in his heart was still so fresh.

"Why did you hit her?"

"I was jealous," Ron straightened up and Harry felt his heavy stare. "Of you."

"Recapturing school years?" Harry smiled bitterly. "The shadow of Voldemort's soul?"

Ron flinched, which made Harry shake his head. It had been so long…

"No; although maybe… Then I didn't understand you… her…"

"And now you do understand?" Harry was trying to speak calmly and evenly, so as not to enrage Ron.

"I think so. Well, not understand – feel. It turns out that animals can sense everything very acutely: smells, tastes, desires… And I have become an animal. I just know that she thinks about you…"

"I also think of her; and of you. Ron, we _are_ friends."

"Don't talk to me like I am crazy. I am telling it like it is… I have always stood between you two…"

"Ron, don't say that. Because you are sitting by Ginny's grave," Harry asked, closing his eyes. "I loved your sister and I love her still. And Hermione has loved and does love you."

"I know. She loves me. But she loves you, too. You know Hermione… She always thought that I needed her more than you did. Therefore, she picked me…"

"You are talking rubbish, Ron! She and I have always been just friends! We have been through this with you, remember?" Harry couldn't raise his voice here, next to his Ginny. Yet, he wanted very much to yell at his friend, to shake him, to slap him.

"I know that too. She will always be a friend to you, because she is too honest. She is not capable of lie or deceit. She will be your friend as long as I stand between the two of you…" Ron was saying this calmly, as though he had been thinking it over for hours. As, apparently, he had been.

"Ron, go talk to her; it seems to me that…"

"No, I won't go. I can't be near her. If I see Hermione, it will happen all over again… Because I feel it, do you understand, Harry?" Ron looked at his friend for the first time. His eyes were cruel, alien. There were scratches on his face. "I feel her feelings for you."

"And for you?"

"For me, too…"

"So? Does she love you less?"

"No, not less. Differently."

"Meaning?"

"I don't know. Just differently. I cannot get near her because I feel anger rising instantly inside me. I hurt her. And the most terrible thing is, Harry, that I like hurting her…"

Harry couldn't believe his ears. What have these creatures turned Ron into? The kind, slightly timid Ronald Weasley! He likes causing pain…

"Come back home. Hermione will not get near you. We will find a way…"

"What way? I am a beast now, Harry! This is not a common cold that can be cured… This will be with me forever!" Ron jumped to his feet, beginning to get excited. Harry tightened his grip on the wand. "And I can't live next to her, and yet away from her. You see, when I think about her, I want to cause her pain, and then take her. Like a male animal, claiming his right to a female…"

Harry couldn't believe that he was hearing these words, especially from Ron. The world seemed devoid of all rhyme or reason. Devoid of love. Devoid of light.

"There must be a way, Ron…" Harry tried to persuade his friend.

"There is. I have to leave. For good."

Harry jumped to his feet:

"Have you gone mad?! Ginny died, and now you will leave also?! Do you have any idea what this will do to all of us?! Have you thought about your children?! About you father?! Your brothers?!"

"They will understand. I will write to the kids. They will be safe away from me. My brothers will understand…"

"You have to talk to them," Harry was trying to make Ron understand the madness of his decision. "You can't…"

"I have to, Harry. For the first time in my life, I clearly see what I have to do! Don't you understand how hard it is for me as well?! It is hard for me to be away from her! From my children! But I have to be, because I have become a monster!" Ron was shouting now, which made Harry physically cringe. This was not a place for shouting. Because this was the resting place of his Ginny.

"Ron, we shall find a way. Just don't leave…"

"I have decided. Do you hear? I have never made my own decisions… The Sorting Hat sent me to Gryffindor; you led me through the years of adventure and heroics; Hermione helped me with the exams. Ginny pushed me toward Lavanda Brown. Hermione kissed me first. She decided that we were to get married. She set the date. She named our children. George decided that I was to work at the shop. Mother and Bill picked out the house for my family. I never made any decisions… I always followed someone else's lead; I was but a shadow… Of my brothers; of you; of Hermione… Now I am not a shadow; I am a beast… And I am leaving."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know," Ron looked his friend straight in the eye. "But as far from her as possible. And from you, because I am a danger to you as well."

"Ron, do you even understand what you are doing to us?" Harry stepped toward his friend, who was about to leave their lives forever; and Harry couldn't imagine his life without Ron. Without Ron, with whom so much had been experienced and endured.

"Yes," the other man replied harshly, stepping back. "I am giving you a shot at survival; and at happiness. You have long since ceased to need me. Now I shall seek my own life…"

"Wait, Ron!" Harry pointed his wand at his friend, intending to stop him, by force if necessary, but Ron Disapparated with a loud bang. Only his quiet "Farewell" was slowly dissipating into the air.

Harry slumped to the ground, unable to believe that this was really happening. It wasn't just that the world had collapsed. It was his entire past life. All of it. Because Ron was a part of Harry Potter himself. He was a part of the story of The Boy Who Lived.

Harry opened his eyes and looked at the tombstone.

"Ginny," he was once again weeping by her grave, digging his fingers into the frozen earth. "God, Ginny, why didn't I die instead of you?! Why didn't I die with you?! Why is all this happening? Are we paying for the years of happiness? Are we? Are we paying for not appreciating what we had? Tell me, why?"

He wept silently, listening to the silence inside him. What he needed now was Ginny who could always find the right words, to comfort, to answer all his questions.

But she was silent.

Because now he was truly all alone. And he still had to go to the house at Grimmauld Place and say something to Hermione. What?!

_He will come back_, Harry repeated to himself, over and over. And yet, his heart was telling him that Ron was gone. Forever.


	68. Part VIII - Chapter 4 - Theodic

_**Chapter 4. Theodic.**_

An austere classroom on the first floor. A fitting place. Quiet. Empty, but for a couple of chairs and a cot.

Theo stood by the wall. He was waiting. They would soon show up.

Another ingenious idea of Dumbledore's. Even though he wouldn't claim ownership. He said that it belonged to someone named Fudge and to Harry Potter. An army. Creating an army right within the school.

Searching. That was precisely what Theo had been doing. Three days. Lightly touching the minds of hundreds of students. Not bringing up distinct images. Just a touch.

Some did not even notice. Some frowned. Some detected a strange presence within them. Some resisted. There were not many of those. Only six. But those were the ones who were almost there already.

There was no time for full-scale training. Headmaster was right about that. They had to act quickly.

Six. Then three remained. Three students. They could definitely be trusted. And their blocking ability was up to par. There would be no time for them to learn Occlumency. The three "chosen" ones were already able to do it. They learned it on their own. It was a talent. A natural ability.

There would be five of them altogether. Theo. Xenia. And the three students. Besides the little Potter. Dumbledore holds him for the Joker. Well, being commander-in-chief, he's entitled to hold some cards close to his chest for the time being.

Xenia. Everything was easy with her. Minimum questions. A quick consent.

She is dedicated to helping people. Especially, Potters. Personal interest – it played its part.

Theo grinned. A spider was climbing the wall. A strange creature. Spinning its webs. Trapping its victims in it. Dumbledore is like a spider. In the most figurative sense.

A restless portrait. Theo visited the Headmaster frequently nowadays. He spoke to Dumbledore. And to his father.

The former worried about the Potters. The latter talked about the army. Both had Theo. And he was carrying out both plans. Calmly. Methodically. Precisely.

The Potters. Protecting them. Well, history does correct its mistakes, but it reuses good moves.

Xenia was in agreement. She was against it from the start, but she consented. She spoke to Dumbledore. They understood one another. Theo would not have been able to do that. Dumbledore was. He made Xenia break her vow. He did it offhandedly, lightly, gently.

And they did it. His father proposed the plan. Severus Snape was a very learned man. Complex magic. It required strong Legilemency skills. And the desire to cast the spell. And they did it. At night. When minds are especially vulnerable.

James Potter resisted. Even in his sleep. A strong boy. If only he had some training. Yet, he could not be touched. He was only an object in this game, not a participant.

How careful Xenia was. How tender. How caring. No one ever treated Theo that way. He was a Snape, however. Not James Potter. And Xenia loved Potter. As no one ever loved Theo.

Xenia didn't let Theo near Potter. It was understandable. He had dared to hurt him once. She was protecting James Potter. Theo understood.

Lily Potter. No defense. Everything went much easier with her. No roommates. No mind protection. And open book. Defenseless. Young. Happy.

Theo frowned. Feeling another's emotions. Every once in a while they got through to him. Even through blocks.

Her feelings. An echo of something strong. Sudden. An echo of her fright. SO strong… Even Theo felt it. The fright of the green-eyed girl. What caused it? Theo didn't try to find out. He wasn't curious. Merely scientific interest. That something like that could get through his blocks. Still, it was just a flitting emotion, as slight fright. That didn't interest him.

The door opened. Three students came in.

Dan Bones. Sixth Year. Ravenclaw.

Steven Corner. Seventh Year. Ravenclaw.

And SHE.

Theo nodded curtly at them. He was looking at HER. Admiring. An amazing combination. Charm. And power.

He felt HER power. As soon as he touched her mind and received a sharp retort. A natural block. SHE was strong. Almost as strong as Xenia. Theo could tell.

Dumbledore. He knew about it too. Knew about HER. Earth, not Fire. Dumbledore knew about HER power. Or was it just a lucky guess?

Search. History's mistakes. Earth. Not Fire.

The fire incinerated. It wouldn't leave any of Theo behind. Just like it was with his father.

Theo did not succumb to the fire, though. He didn't succumb to his past.

He was not his father. He didn't long for flames.

"Hello," all three looked lost. Looking around.

He hadn't told them everything. And neither had McGonagall. Just an extra class. Just some training in complex magic. For now. They would decide later. They needs to be total disclosure. Total certainty. Total trust.

Theo's eyes met HERs. No diffidence. Curiosity. Interest – in what? Direct and courageous gaze. Eyes the colour of the earth. The name evocative of the earth. Calm power. Solid knowledge.

Unsettled. Intrigued. Nervous.

Theo spoke briefly about the lessons. Practicing Mental methods. Image creation. Control. Subjugation. It was all there. But in different words. Softer.

Just a part of curriculum.

He would teach them control. But it will be done secretly. They wouldn't even notice. And then he would take them to Dumbledore.

"Healer Mancilli, why us?" HER lively eyes. Interest. Wariness. SHE is so like her mother. "I mean, why was it us who Professor McGonagall recommended for this class?"

"Your abilities. All three of you can block your minds from being penetrated,"  
Theo was looking at her. So many questions. "Let us begin."

Everything was simple. He had already taught children – and they were less talented than these three. Also, three are not as many as ten.

Putting one in a trance. The other practicing. Theo overseeing. Gently. Non-intrusively. Lightly.

In the beginning everything was as expected. They were uncomfortable, embarrassed with entering the others' minds. Entering their thoughts, their memories.

It was better that way, however. They would get used to it. Become closer. Become a team. They would know almost everything about each other. The tactics of unification. Dumbledore thought that through as well. Nothing would bring them closer together than sharing memories.

Dan was the first to go. He was a little scared. It was to be expected at first. The first time of doing it on purpose. To purposefully allow another person into his memories. Theo was teaching them to hide recollections; to show only the unimportant. So far they weren't succeeding; but they would.

Theo felt Dan. He knew – the boy wouldn't let them down. Sharp intellect. Honour. Devotion.

The other two were nervous. They took turns to penetrate the sleeping Dan's consciousness. For just a little while. SHE turned away, blushing.

Stephen was next. Reluctant. He had understood. He knew what would happen. He had something to hide. Everyone did. Yet, they would have to bear it for now. Later Theo would include Xenia and have them practice on her. Or on Theo himself – under Xenia's control. For now, let them deal with it.

Theo felt Stephen. He was the weakest link of the three. A little uncertain, indecisive. Yet he had a sense of duty. And devotion. That was good.

Dan made his attempt reluctantly. Was he afraid? SHE, on the other hand, was bolder now. She learned fast. No more embarrassment.

SHE lay down. Allowed to be put in a trance. SHE knew it was necessary.

Theo was admiring HER. HER arms lying alongside her torso. Her hair. Neck. Her calm face.

SHE would become the heart of the trio. The strongest. The boldest. The most talented.

Intelligent. Decisive. Responsible. Not at all impulsive.

Enough for one lesson. All three were smiling timidly. Didn't meet each others' eyes. Common secrets. Nothing brings people closer.

"Not bad, everyone. The next lesson – on Wednesday, after supper." Theo looked at them. The boys left promptly.

SHE stayed behind; looking at Theo. He returned her gaze.

"Healer Mancilli, how did you know that the three of us had Legilimency abilities?" coming closer; smiling slightly.

"Do you really need an answer?" Theo is certain that she doesn't. SHE knows it all already.

"I thought I had just imagined it. And did you get into every student's head?" SHE grinned; without censure; without anger.

"A rhetorical question again," Theo did not avert his gaze. All of a sudden – a flash of happiness; somebody else's happiness; ecstasy; incredibly powerful emotions. The happiness of the red-haired girl with green eyes. Theo forced the echo of her happiness away from him.

SHE was watching closely. She must have noticed something. Could she feel it?

"What is all this for? The Headmistress held something back, I think," SHE looked embarrassed. Trust for her teachers. Absolute trust in McGonagall. Senses won't be fooled though.

"It is a class. For now – simply a class," Theo permitted that word to slip out; to catch her curiosity; to make her stay; so that he could feast his eyes on her; just for a few minutes more; a few moments. She is like a light in his soul; like hope.

"For now, you say… and when will you unveil that 'for now'?" smiling; looking straight into his face; an open, intelligent gaze.

Theo didn't respond. He was simply looking at HER.

"All right," she relented. "Until Wednesday then, Healer Mancilli."

He watched HER leave. The gleam of candlelight on HER hair; earth-coloured hair.

"Goodbye, Ms. Weasley."

He didn't want fire; because fire would destroy him. Earth; like hope; like light against his darkness; the darkness of loneliness.


	69. Part VIII - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

**_Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy._**

Could he conceal what had happened within the Room of Requirement from the world?

Could he conceal what had happened within his soul?

He could. What did he care about the outside world? Let the whole universe burst with curiosity. He would keep his silence. He would conceal.

And conceal he did, keeping the heat and flame of those moments deep inside him. It seemed to him that his heart now bore a tattoo: "My Lily." These two words expressed precisely what he could have said about what had transpired between them. The rest could not be put into words.

How could you put into words the feeling that just for a few minutes you had been completely lost within yourself?! As though an entire flock of phoenixes was singing inside and all around him; as though he was able to see his own soul smiling at the universe. It was inexpressible.

He and Lily came down to dinner together, having thoroughly straightened out each other's appearances. They sought out their missing clothing in the snow. They untangled her hair. They shook the silver snow out of their shoes. They laughed. No embarrassment – only happiness. Her eyes shone and her cheeks burned. And she was smiling constantly – a soft and very special smile. A smiled just for him.

Scorpius sat at the table, devouring potatoes, feeling pleasantly relaxed all over. Even a dozen veilas would not have achieved the same effect in a day-long session of erotic massage.

"And there James was, thinking that Lily was going to kill you," Xenia sat down next to the Slytherin and raised her eyebrows. "Merlin, Scorpius, where did you come from, so famished?"

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders and grinned, reaching for seconds. Xenia watched him closely. Damn healer, she already knows everything.

"And you, Xenia, where have you been that you are not at all hungry? Or is Mancilli providing for your sustenance, among other things?" Scorpius was not going to be forgiving of her the night-time strolls with that goblin, even if he himself had visited heaven earlier today. Indeed, he was still in heaven, he simply did this place here an honor by sticking his aristocratic nose out of his personal paradise, filled with the singing of birds and the splashing of molten silver. "Or were you braiding his hair? Trying to undo the prank of nature and reduce the size of his beak?"

She stared scathingly at him. Scorpius merely hemmed.

He gave her all his thoughts on the subject first thing in the morning. And she said only: "Don't tell James." He wouldn't, but not for her sake! He simply… couldn't drop his friend from heaven down to Earth once again. Not yet.

He would observe and then decide what kind of involvement Xenia had with this long-haired scare-crow. Something told him that it was not that simple. Hippogriff peck him to death if the healers were not up to something shady in regards to the Potters.

He stole a quick glance at the Gryffindor table. Niffler bite you! James Potter didn't seem to have any appetite. His face reflected only one desire. And Malfoy even knew what it was and at whom it was directed. The stubborn Gryffindor was glaring daggers at Lily. She sat with her back to Scorpius, but the Slytherin suspected that she could hardly have completely erased that blissful expression from her face. And besides, there were a few remaining silver snowflakes in her hair, as though a part of Scorpius himself. Like his mark on her body.

Potter was just about to choke on his own slobber – this much was obvious to Scorpius. Or choke on the words that must be crowding his shaggy head, fighting for the privilege to be the first out of his mouth when the dam broke. If not now, then a few minutes later.

"Who do you inflated Potter?" Scorpius looked back at Xenia with a contented grin. She was also looking at James. Potter was definitely ill at ease. The detail that make Malfoy happy, however, was that Lily was eating, completely at ease, occasionally leaning over to Weasley with a remark. Ouch, Potter, a little more, and you will simply explode…

His initial urge to come to his friend's aide was immediately squashed by the Malfoy part of his soul, long stashed in storage, useless. Today was just the time to reclaim it. Let Potter fume, because he always creates drama out of nothing. Today, of course, he did have a valid reason to fume. It is a good thing, really, that Lily isn't able to hide her feelings…. Let Potter suffer, it will at least distract him from Xenia's odd behaviour. James really doesn't need any other worries right now. Let him think of Lily and her personal life. This, at least, Scorpius knew how to handle.

"You don't have anything you want to tell me, Malfoy, do you?" Xenia turned to him, smiling conspiratorily. "Is there anything that would necessitate my separating you and James from each other?"

"Now why would you do that?" Scorpius' lips twitch at the corner as he played with the fork in his hand. "I just can't wait for another two weeks of detention. Besides, Potter thinks his life boring without an adrenaline fix now and then. Not to mention those fighting spells that he has to practice…"

"Don't talk rubbish, Scorpius," Xenia shook her head at him. "Faust has already warned you that you would be expelled, should you two fight again…"

"Oh, come on, I have no desire to fight that shaggy oaf!" the Slytherin chortled, picking up his napkin. "I would much rather excise his imagination that has just conjured in his inflamed brain an image of an orgy with his sister as a willing participant…"

"Scorpius, please – don't push James." Xenia seemed to be upset at something herself. "He is already at his limit right now…"

"Yes, I see that… He can be a model of Prince Hamlet before the murder…"

"Who?"

"Don't dwell," Scorpius rose to his feet. Why is it that no one seems to have read Sheakspeare? Well, Xenia, at least, was supposed to eat Homers for breakfast and Aeschylli for lunch, but even the Brits do not know Sheakspeare. A great figure, in Malfoy's opinion. Even Lily didn't know who Hamlet was… He would have to fill that gap.

Scorpius slowly approached his potential murderer, while recalling his father gasping for air upon finding a Muggle book in his son's room. Sheakspeare. This scene alone was worth sneaking the book into Malfoy Manor.

The Slytherin sat next to Lily, feeling instantly enveloped by the familiar and beloved warmth of her body. She turned to him, biting her lip to suppress a happy smile. It took a supreme act of will for his hands to remain in his lap.

"Potter, do you have a potato stuck in your throat? And the size of a Horntail's egg, no less." Malfoy smirked evilly at his friend. Wow, the Gryffindor is just itching for a kill… And he used to think all Potters nice and kind! This one is worse than the drunken Hagrid, robbed of the last illegal dragon spawn… "Potter, should I run and fetch a crossbow?"

"Scorpius," Lily put a hand on his shoulder. She was looking at her brother in alarm. She must have just noticed that something large was forcing its way out of her brother's mouth. Out of his throat. A plump something, fed by years of suspicions and inflamed fantasies, a little monster of brotherly devotion and jealousy.

"I had nothing to do with it," Malfoy grinned – amazed that Potter had been able to contain himself for this long, merely glaring flaming darts at Lily and him. "I was passing by and saw that my fellow man wasn't feeling well, and I decided to help."

James Potter's reaction was something Scorpius never expected. He could have jumped to his feet and yelled, hexing everyone in sight. He could have thrown a knife at the Slytherin, if nothing else. Could have waved his wand like a baboon conducting an orchestra. Yet, the Gryffindor merely jumped up and fled the Great Hall, barely avoiding knocking a Ravenclaw student into a wall.

"Lil, just don't panic right away, ok?" Scorpius immediately turned to face her. "I shall find him and let him kill me…"

"Scor..."

"Everything is fine, enjoy your breakfast," he planted a quick kiss on the tip of her nose and rushed after Potter who was moving amazingly fast. He could give a herd of rabid hippogriffs a run for their money, were he able to find any.

Scorpius found James outside. The chap sat on a bench next to the park entrance.

"And what is the tragic scene this time?" Malfoy stood next to the tree and thrust his hands in his pockets. It was cold, and Scorpius thought of where he needed to go to pick up his things: to the locker room for his jacket and the Astronomy tower for his broomstick.

He hadn't forgotten anything in the Room of Requirement, it seemed; except for himself; his former self. He realised with a sort of detachment that this morning sealed his transformation from a contemptible Second Year Slytherin to a Gryffindor, albeit with some flaws inherent to his Malfoy soul. After all, some things never changed. Or, rather, some people.

Case in point – James Potter; angry for something he could not hinder or prevent; for something that was not really any of his business. Malfoy felt grudging respect for him though: he had not killed anyone so far.

Scorpius waited for a question, but James failed to ask one. He simply kept silent, struggling with himself. Progress apparent. Malfoy sat down next to his friend.

"Potter, I realise how hard it is for you to keep silent right now and I am grateful to you for doing so," Scorpius decided to help the Gryffindor in his internal struggles. "Look at it from another side though: you no longer have to worry. Everything has already happened…"

"It is not a figment of my inflamed imagination then…" James' response was unnaturally calm. "Malfoy…"

"Let's do without the threats, shall we?" Scorpius asked. "And without prying into my private affairs that are, actually, none of your concern… However, you being my friend and she – your sister, I forgive you this weakness. And if you are looking for details," Potter snorted derisively, "you shall not get them. You had to have gathered everything from the look on your sister's face."

James nodded, looking straight ahead.

"Do you love her?"

Scorpius flinched at the question; the question asked so plainly and posed so rigidly.

Had he ever loved anyone in his life? Did anyone love him? His mother loved him, in her own Malfoy manner: with no coddling and good-night kisses. She rejoiced at his successes and grieved his failures. However, she never just gave him a hug, read to him before bedtime, let alone kissed him goodnight. Was it not supposed to be like this? No, because other children had it; Potters had it.

His father loved Scorpius. But also in his own way. He took his achievements for granted. Lately, the son did not delight his father often though. Because Draco's view of Scorpius' actions remained the same, but the young man had changed. And his achievements became different; achieved differently…

What did it mean – to love? Malfoy did not know that at all. To need someone, yes; to feel attached to someone; to yearn; to use; to reject; to despise; to ignore. But to love? What is it like? Love is a weakness and Malfoys cannot be weak… Then what should he do about the hour that he spent in the silver forest? With the heaven that he found in the arms of Lily Potter?

Malfoy did not know the answer. He looked straight ahead: at the far-off pitch; at the stone by the side of the road; at the castle towers. A Slytherin girl was going down the steps. Priscilla Zabini. She was heading for the Hogwarts gate. Odd, what did she want there?

Scorpius was watching the girl closely now. She was walking; she raised her hand and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Strange, Prinscilla never used to do that. She thought the gesture common. The Slytherin rose to his feet, suddenly gripped by sharp anxiety. He was looking at Zabini who was almost to the gate already. What was it that seemed wrong about her? The hair; the hand; the lock tucked behind the ear; the ear; _the earring_.

He practically shot off, suddenly absolutely certain that this was not Zabini. Because the girl's ears had Lily's earrings in them. The same golden droplets that he saw on the Gryffindor mere hours before. And why would Lily give Zabini her earrings? Especially since Priscilla did not even have her ears pierced!

"Lily!" Scorpius yelled, seeing the girl's hand reaching toward the gate. It must be locked! It must be! Yet, to Malfoy's horror, the girl easily pushed the gate open and walked through it.

"Wait!" he was almost to the wide-open gate when he saw her raise a piece of parchment in her hand toward her eyes, read it – and Disapparate. Instantly. Yet in that instant Scorpius caught the haunted, scared, yet somehow subdued look in the eyes of Lily Potter.

James ran up, looking in bewilderment at Malfoy who turned white as a sheet. At that moment, the form of Theodic Mancilli emerged from the castle. He too was pale. He ran right toward the students.

"Where is she?" the Healer asked right away, his wand at the ready.

"Who?" James was confused. He couldn't understand what was going on.

Scorpius did though. He could barely breath; barely speak. The ice froze over everything inside him; his whole world, moments before full of light and music. The silver forest with warm snow was no more.

He looked in horror at the place from where Lily Potter vanished. He was not thinking yet of how it happened and why; but he knew for sure – by the frantic beating of his heart, by a sixth sense – that this had been _his_ Lily.

**Yes, I know - this is a major cliff-hanger. Hang in there! I will attempt to update quickly. :)**


	70. Part VIII - Chapter 6 - Hermione Weasley

_**Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley.**_

Ron. Where are you? Ron. What is happening with you? Ron. Ron. Ron…

It was as if a clock was ticking in her head. And the ticking was the name of her husband who was alone, scared, unhappy. Who was in danger.

Ron. Ron. Ron…

Harry. Find him, please, Harry, I know you can. You can do anything, you always could, Harry, I beg you, find him. Let him be alive, not in the paws of other werewolves, not at the point of the Aurors' wands.

Ron. Ron. Ron…

You shall come back. You always have. You were angry, but you came back. You felt guilty, but you still came back.

You cannot leave after so many years. Too much connects us. Too close we are for that. Ron. You shall return, do you hear? You have to return!

You cannot be alone. You are so weak, so vulnerable. You are so volatile. Dependent on others. On their attention. You have been like that since school. You can be in the shadow of someone else, but you don't like it.

You cannot be alone. Because you never had to be. Because you don't like to be alone. You like to be cared for. To be loved. You make faces and pretend not to like to be smothered.

But that is just a pretense. Because you like to be the center of attention. Even only of just one person. But the center.

Ron. Ron. Ron…

Harry, he will come back, won't he? I know that you can bring him back, Harry. You will, won't you? You always make the impossible happen, performed the most incredible feats of valour. You simply have to bring him back!

Ron, how could you? You are Ron, after all, the dearest, the most beloved. It was always you, not Harry. Always you, not anyone else. Not Harry, although he has needed us during all these years far more than we needed him. Have you not understood this? We were his rock, we helped him to live and rake joy in life.

Why was it us, you and me? It's easy! We were with him. We were always there. We knew his pain. We knew his weaknesses. We saw his grief. His happiness. His disappointment. His anger. We saw the real him. Without the halo of the hero, without the "The boy who lived" title. He persevered and survived right before our eyes. Do you understand?

He always needed us, always. So that he remembered. So that he didn't get lost alone in the memories. We were always there for him in his past. And he was never alone in the present.

Have you not understood, Ron?

When you return, I'll explain it to you. I will make you understand.

No, I have not devoted all these years to Harry. I devoted them to you and to our trio. To our friendship. To love.

Why are you so angry at me for my feelings toward Harry? Yes, I love him. But this is how it should be. This is Harry! Our Harry… He is a part of me. And a part of you. Just like you are a part of me, and a part of Harry.

Yet, you left. Don't you understand what you are doing to us?! It is as though you are ripping us apart. You. Me. Harry.

You are destroying us. Our common past. Our common future. Who are we without you? Merely Hermione and Harry. We are no longer a trio, you see?

Ron, Ron, you will come back, won't you, you always do. Are you feeling like a third wheel? Forgive me, I didn't know. You should have told me long ago. Maybe there is something in that.

Still, you must understand! Harry is alone, all alone. And he cannot be alone, because that is how he'd been most of his life anyway.

You'd say that he had Ginny. Yes, he did. Yet, he is still alone. Because she "was". She is no more. But we have to be. I have to be with Harry, because we will lose him otherwise. We cannot let that happen. It is up to us, you and me!

Ron, everything will be different without you. You have to come back, Ron Weasley!

Do you think that you stand between Harry and me? Yes, you do, because it is right. Because you bound us tighter together than any intimate relationship could. You do understand, Ron, don't you? Without you, it will not be a friendship anymore. Harry and I will not be friends anymore.

When you quarreled, I stayed with him. For you. We didn't speak about you, but our silence was all about you. It was always that way. Why was I with him and not you? Because Harry was always the lonely one. His soul was always crying out from this loneliness. It cried out because he had lost his parents. He lost Sirius. And Dumbledore. And Remus. I couldn't bear the pain screaming out of those green eyes. Without you he was always lost in this vast world.

Ron, come back. I need you. Harry needs you. You need us.

I know that you are feeling bad. That you are scared. That you hate yourself. But we will handle it… You are still you, aren't you? You could not have changed so much that you no longer need us. You couldn't have, could you? Tell me that you have not changed so much that it is easy for you to leave…

Ron. Ron. Ron…

You will come back, you always have.

You entered the house, drenched. Autumn raindrops dripped from your hair. Or you brushed snowflakes off your cloak. Or you came back without a cloak, having lost it somewhere. You agreed with my remonstrations, although you might be expecting me to throw myself into your arms, wild with joy at having you back. I wanted to, but I contained myself. Because I believed that you would never do that again, knowing how angry I would be at you…

Ron, you cannot do this. To us. To me. To the children.

I know that you are exhausted from battling with yourself. You are frightened; but we shall manage. We have been frightened before when it seemed there was no way out, yet we always found it.

Harry has always found a way. And he will this time. He simply cannot but find you. He can do anything.

I trust that you will come back. Because the world without you will be a completely different world, in which everything will be different.

Harry… he is back? What's wrong, Harry?! No…

"What's wrong, Harry?" she approached him slowly. "You haven't found him?" a silly, shameful hopefulness. It's better than…

She looked in the face of Harry Potter. The face from another world. The world without Ron Weasley.

"What did he say?" she breathed, leaning on the tabletop for support. Harry was silent, his eyes staring hopelessly past her. He couldn't look her in the eye, just like, shortly beforehand, she had been avoiding his gaze. "What did he say?!"

Harry was silent. Why is he silent?! Why is he so indifferent, when everything inside her is crashing, breaking, moaning, and twisting?! Why is he simply silent?!

"Forgive me," Harry said in a voice that seemed to belong to someone else, still not looking at her. "He won't come back. It is all my fault…"

Hermione shook her head stubbornly, still holding on to the edge of the table. What difference does it make who is at fault?! Tell me, what does it matter now? Who needs to lay blame?!

Harry turned and stepped into the fireplace. Hermione watched him disappear amid the green flames.

Ron. Ron. What are you doing?! Ron!

If only you saw what you have done!

Harry left. She knew he would. Because there was no more Ron standing between them. Because everything has changed. The world has changed.

The past was gone.

Ron, you will come back, won't you? You just said that in anger… you can't help but come back…

Ron, you cannot do this to us!

Hermione sat at the table for a long time, staring at the cup with a green trim. Just a little while ago her friend was drinking tea from it. Her friend was gone now. And so was Ron. Her friend, her husband, her beloved.

As the sun rose over the new world, Teddy Lupin entered the house. Hermione looked up at him.

"A letter for you, Hermione," Teddy said, a little confused, holding the envelope out to her. "The owl must have had trouble finding this address…"

"Yes," she forced out, taking the yellow envelope fron Lupin. It seemed to contain something heavy. She opened the letter and a ring rolled out onto her palm.

His wedding ring. He never took it off. Never before.

The note trembled in her fingers. Or were her hands trembling as she unfolded the parchment?

"I am setting you free. Get through it and help Harry get through it. I now have my own destiny. Your fates are intertwined. Thank you for the years of love. And forgive me for everything. For the years and the days."

"Hermione?" Teddy looked at her fearfully. Her face must have reflected what she read.

The young man embraced Hermione, allowing her to weep into his shoulder.

"He won't come back. He is gone."

Ron… Ron. Ron! What have you done with us?!

**It is sad to see situations when someone realizes that their present is already someone else's past... My heart breaks for Hermione.**


	71. Part VIII - Chapter 7 - Teddy R Lupin

_**Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin.**_

Teddy stood hesitantly in the middle of Hermione's living room.

Hermione was on the couch, with her legs tucked under her, biting her lips. She was no longer crying although she seemed far from having come to terms with Ron's departure.

Lupin, on the other hand, was pondering as of godfather's whereabouts. His life now seemed to be spent searching: for Ron, for Harry… for comfort… for peace.

"He has to be alone for a while," said Hermione, pulling a tartan almost up to her shoulders.

"I can't believe it is you saying that," Teddy crossed his arms. "You know better than anyone that he cannot be alone. Especially now."

"Now – he has to be," she insisted, staring, as she often did, at the fire, casting dim glow on the living room.

"Now?" Lupin looked at Hermione in disbelief. "It is worse for him now than ever to be alone!"

Hermione didn't respond, her mind clearly set. Lupin felt uncertain. Who was right?

She, who had known not only Harry Potter, but simply Harry?

Or he, feeling that Harry needed help, but not knowing him inside out like Hermione did?

Ron left. Lupin was surprised and even upset. Because it would be hard for Harry to lose Ron. It would be easier for Hermione though. Why did he think that? He just did. It would be easier for her, eventually. Because she would no longer have to tear herself in half, like she had for the past month. And, in the end, it would be better for Harry.

Teddy grinned at his thoughts. A part of him was an detached egotist. He measured many things in this world by the good it would do his godfather. Harry was the dearest and closest person to him. Almost a father. A friend. A brother. Especially since Lupin was always able to understand how difficult Harry's life was, understand how he felt.

No one suffered as much as his godfather. No one deserved attention and happiness like Harry did. Therefore, Lupin felt justified to be selfish on this point. Ron had gone, and it would be easier for Hermione. Maybe more painful, but easier.

"I shall go look for him."

"He is probably with Albus," Hermione's glance stopped Teddy in his tracks. She knew that she was talking rubbish, yet for some reason she refused to back down.

"You know as well as I do that he would not go to his son with that," Lupin sat down on the couch next to Hermione. "What is going on with you, Hermione? You don't want to see Harry?"

"What for?" she asked indifferently. "What are we going to talk about? Werewolves? Name Magic? What?"

"Have you nothing else to talk about?" Lupin looked at Hermione in amazement. Impossible as it would seem, it appeared that Ron was the key to their friendship. Ron left, and Harry and Hermione seemed to repel one another. Like two like-charged magnets.

"You see, Teddy, once, many years ago, Ron also left. He abandoned Harry and me at a very difficult moment," she smiled bitterly. "I didn't speak to Harry for a long time because I was thinking about Ron and how shamefully he abandoned us. Eventually, we spoke of Harry's plans, of the Hallows, of Voldemort, of the visit to Godric's Hollow… We spoke of everything but Ron's departure… Nothing has changed since then. Harry and I have nothing to talk about. Especially now…"

Lupin put his hands on Hermione's shoulders and looked straight into her tired eyes:

"You do have something to talk about. About Ron. About Ginny. About the two of you."

"There is no 'us', Ted. For many years there was Harry and his two friends. Or _The Golden Trio_, as we were called. There were Harry and Ron. There was never Harry and Hermione."

"Why can't there be now? Is Ron – the only thing connecting you? Ron and the memories? I don't believe that…"

Hermione didn't respond, seemingly absorbed in her uneasy thoughts.

"You always believe in the best outcome, Teddy. Just like your father did."

"I don't just believe, I can feel it…" Lupin smiled gently. "And my godfather needs you, more than he needs anyone else… Right now, maybe event more than he needs his children…"

Hermione merely shook her head. Teddy patted her shoulder and got to his feet.

"Whatever you say, I have to find him," Lupin stopped by the fireplace. Hermione calmed down, even relaxed slightly against the cushions. Hopefully, she would sleep a little…

Teddy went straight to Harry's house. Where else could his godfather find solitude? Where else would he suffer in grief and total loneliness?

Harry was indeed there. He sat right in the fireplace hallway, apparently unable to go any further. Lupin sat on the floor next to his godfather. The other didn't even stir, his head resting on his arms, staring down between his knees at the floor.

"I was at Hermione's…"

"Good," Harry said dully. He didn't ask how she was. Well, it seemed, Ted would find a similar situation here. The friendship collapsed, leaving them along with Ron Weasley, and they weren't ready for anything else. It was as thought Ron ripped a blindfold from their eyes. Now they were the husband's best mate and the best mate's wife. Or were they?

It wasn't easy for Lupin to sort it all out. Nor did he particularly want to. His life was simple. There was his grandmother, who loved to grumble, but was also so loving and easy to understand. Marie-Victoire, who always demanded his utmost attention and devotion, but also accepted his constant desire to help others and loved him for it the most. And there was his godfather who loved him and was always there for him, like a father. Then there were his classmates and co-workers; there were his friends the Weasleys. But with no one did he have or could have the kind of convoluted and insanely intimate relationship as The Golden Trio had.

His father had the Marauders. There was no girl there, however. But there was a traitor. It was also a complicated situation that broke up that friendship. One was a traitor. One was killed. One was in prison. And there was his lonely father who didn't know what to do with the broken friendship.

That was what one got for having such close relationships with people. Sometimes, Lupin was even glad that there wasn't much of a chance for such a development in his life. Of course, he had people who were close to him, but none of them would betray him. Teddy was sure of it.

"Harry, she needs you now…"

"No. She needs some time alone."

"I wish you could hear one another," Lupin smiled. "You need to talk, you both love Ron so much…"

"We have nothing to talk about. Ron left; it was his decision."

"How did he explain it though? He couldn't have simply said 'that's it, I am leaving'…"

"He did. He said a lot of things. Apparently, I never knew him. Or her. I was selfish all those years, thinking that everything was perfect with them; I never tried to find out whether it really was…"

"Again, you blame yourself for everything, Harry," Lupin nudged his godfather a little with his shoulder. "It is so like you. You really _are_ selfish. Why do you think that it is always about you and it is always your fault?"

"Ron was the one who said it. They quarreled because of me. Ron was jealous of me and her… He thought that there is something between us, that Hermione loves me…"

"She does love you," Teddy agreed, smiling slightly. "And there _is_ something between you two. Affection, care, tenderness… I have never in my life seen such warm companionship, Harry! And you can't just make a break now, when you need each other so."

"Ron thought that he was standing between us," Harry raised his head and stared at the white wall before him. "He said that he felt her love for me… And that he cannot be with her because of it…"

"Harry, must you pay for other people's mistakes?" Lupin refused to give up. "Who are you trying to prove something to and what? Prove to Ron that you and Hermione mean nothing to one another? There is nothing you can prove to Ron – he is gone. To others? They will definitely be confused as to why you have suddenly begun avoiding each other… To her? She knows everything as it is, there is nothing you must prove to her. Why suffer needlessly?"

"She needs it. And so do I."

"She needs _you_," Teddy stood up. "You were both abandoned by the person you love. It is stupid to pretend that it didn't happen or that it doesn't matter. But you mustn't abandon each other… Because your strength is in being together…"

"Listen, Ted, you don't dream about Dumbledore, by any chance, do you?" Harry grinned bitterly, also getting to his feet. Lupin smiled.

"No, I usually dream of wolf packs or of Marie."

"Yes, Marie… She must barely see you anymore because of my problems…"

"Once again, you blame youself for something that isn't your fault… Your problems are my problems also," Teddy said gravely and held a jar of Floo power out to his godfather. "Shall we?"

Teddy came out of the fireplace in Hermione's house and immediately saw her. She was asleep on the couch, clutching the tartan tightly to her.

Harry caught up to him almost instantly. He simply stood there, silently, staring at Hermione.

Teddy flinched, when the now familiar Patronus burst into the room, lit only by the gloomy light of an autumn day, and the voice of Minerva McGonagall roused Hermione from her sleep, pronouncing: "Harry, your daughter has vanished. Come to Hogwarts at once. The password is 'Bryan'."

The dead silence that followed was broken by a moan, coming from the very depths of hell, wherein dwelled Harry Potter.

**Human relationships just seem to become more complicated, the older we get. Why can't they get simpler, instead? We _are_ supposed to grow wiser, aren't we? ;)**


	72. Part VIII - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Ch****apter 8. The Potters.**_

James felt hopelessly confused. He was looking from Mancilli to Malfoy to the spot from which Priscilla Zabini had vanished. What was happening? Strangely, the other two seemed to be on the same page.

"Zabini," the Slytherin said through clenched teeth and took off toward the castle, taking out his wand. James ran after him.

"Malfoy! What is happening?" the Gryffindor called out, wheezing, when they reached the Entrance Hall and turned toward the dungeons. "I am completely lost…"

Unlike him, Scorpius knew exactly who was responsible for Lily's disappearance. His Lily.

Priscilla Zabini. It had to be her. And now she was most likely in the Slytherin common room, earning her alibi. Just in case. Because if it wasn't for the super-observant Malfoy, especially when it had something to do with his friends or his enemies, Lily's disappearance could never have been traced back to Ms. Zabini.

Scorpius still held on to an almost non-existent flicker of hope that – just this time – he was wrong. Yet, he was not at all surprised – unlike James – when, having called out the password ("Mudbloods not allowed"), he rushed into the Slytherin common room only to find Priscilla Zabini, surrounded by her girlfriends, laughing merrily at yet another silly joke.

James was gasping for air, staring at Zabini. If she is here then who… Lily? The Gryffindor felt his legs buckle under him. Of course; otherwise, why would Malfoy behave like this?..

"Priscilla, a moment, please," Scorpius called out to the girl in a bored voice. The Slytherin only hoped that James, who was finally beginning to catch on, would know better than to interfere. Because it would be plain stupid to make a scene in a common room full of Slytherins.

Scorpius caught a momentary flash of uncertainty in the face of his "bride". Just a glimmer, barely perceptible; yet he noticed it – and now he knew for sure. His hand almost reached for his wand, but he managed to control himself.

"Sorry, Scorpius, I am quite busy at the moment," the brunette demonstratively turned her back on him, but Malfoy would not be put off so easily.

"What matters is that I am not, darling," the Slytherin stepped toward the couch and grabbed Zabini's hand, pulling her sharply to her feet.

"Hey, Malfoy!" Fritz came out of the corner, glaring menacingly at Scorpius.

"Get out of here, Zabini; your sister and I have to discuss some nuances of our upcoming engagement," Malfoy unceremoniously dragged Priscilla along. She did not resist – she smoothed her hair and cast a haughtily-triumphant glance at James. The Gryffindor hurried out of the Slytherin common room that was making him feel sick. Only one thought resonated in his head: "Lily; it cannot be… Lily…"

Scorpius pushed open a barely noticeable low door down the hall. James followed after his friend who was still holding Zabini's hand in an iron grip, shut the door, and leaned against it.

"Well, Scorpius, you now need the Gryffindors' help to speak with a girl, do you?" Priscilla asked caustically, crossing her arms. "And why are we alone in this cellar? Has the Gryffindor girl ceased to satisfy you?"

James knew that Scorpius was on the verge of forgetting his rule number one and striking Zabini. The Slytherin grabbed her painfully by her hair, making her cry out. He then pushed her toward the wall, covered with moisture and moss, waved his wand, and the girl's body became virtually glued to the stones.

"Malfoy, have you gone mad?" she said through clenched teeth. "Let me go at once!"

"Not before you tell me what you have done with Lily Potter and where she is now," Scorpius said firmly, twirling his wand in his fingers. He knew that his face did not betray his anger – he was good at controlling his emotions – but in reality he was at the end of his rope. He was ready to kill, yes, kill, should Zabini not confess, should she not talk, should he lose the chance to rescue Lily. The Slytherin felt – no, not panic or pain or uncertainty – hatred and vengefulness rising in his chest. And if he cannot rush to Lily's rescue right away, this hatred would swallow him. "And if I were you, I would talk quickly, because I have no intention of wasting time convincing you…"

"Oh, go jump in the lake," Priscilla attempted to break out of her invisible bonds, but to no avail. Her face showed the same cold disdain as Malfoy's face. "If your mistress left you, I had nothing to do with it!"

"I take it as a no," Malfoy said calmly and gripped his wand. "I don't know if you have ever experienced Cruciatus curse, but now you have a good chance…"

"You won't dare, my family will destroy you…" Zabini's eyes narrowed. Looking at her, James understood that Proscilla found it quite likely that Scorpius would use the Torturing curse on her. And the Gryffindor would not move a finger to stop his friend; because this had to do with Lily… James trusted Malfoy implicitly: if Scorpius decided to torture Zabini, then he was sure that Priscilla was guilty.

"I don't give a damn about your family," Scorpius snorted and pointed his wand at the girl. Her eyes widened with fear. "Where is Lily?"

Zabini was silent, looking at the Slytherin in cold contempt. James stepped forward in order to assist Scorpius, if necessary.

"Wait, don't!" they heard behind them right when Malfoy seemed ready to cast the spell. They turned around – Xenia stood in the doorway, Professor Faust behind her. "Scorpius, let Priscilla go."

"I absolutely won't, she…"

"There are other means to coax the truth from Ms. Zabini," the professor remarked, taking the bonds off Priscilla. "Let us all go to the Headmistress' study."

Faust and Priscilla Zabini led the way. James was gripping Xenia's hand, but his eyes were on Malfoy. The Gryffindor felt as though they were not walking fast enough; they needed to hurry or… Or…

The grown-ups were already assembled in McGonagall's study. The Headmistress sat at her desk, pale Theodic Mancilli next to her. Harry Potter stood by the fireplace – he looked like a ghost. James thought that if it wasn't for Hermione holding his hand, his father would collapse from his grief. By the window puffed slightly scared Slughorn, fingering his grey mustache.

"Be seated," McGonagall stood up and nodded curtly at the newly arrived students. Xenia forced James into a chair, while she stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders. Perhaps that was why his throat no longer felt as constricted and the ache in his chest – so painful. Malfoy did not sit down – he stood against the wall, his eyes on Zabini. The Slytherin girl was seated in the middle of the room, everybody's eyes trained on her. Apparently, Priscilla began to feel a little uneasy, especially under Harry Potter's heavy stare.

"Ms. Zabini, will you tell us of your own accord what happened to Lily Potter?" McGonagall asked. Everyone in the room was silent, looking at the girl.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Zabini replied derisively, but James saw her avoiding his father's gaze. Was it guilty conscience? Did this… even have one?

The Headmistress sighed in resignation:

"All right. Professor Slughorn, the Veritaserum, please," McGonagall requested, taking a goblet from the shelf and pouring water into it. The Potions Master handed the Headmistress a vial. In the dead silence of the room, McGonagall measured out the potion into the goblet and held it out to Priscilla. "You won't be able to hide anything from us; drink. You do understand, don't you, that we shall force you to drink it in any case…"

"You have no right…"

"Ms. Zabini, don't stall; we do not have much time," McGonagall asked. James looked at his father. Harry was clutching the wand in his hand. Poor father…

The Slytherin must have realised the futility of resistance and gulped down the contents of the goblet, wincing slightly. James looked at her when his father spoke:

"Ms. Zabini, do you know the whereabouts of my daughter, Lily Potter?"

"No," the Slytherin replied promptly, and the adults exchanged glances. James saw disbelief on Scorpius' face.

Only Harry Potter continued to look at Priscilla as he went on with the interrogation:

"Are you an accomplice to her disappearance?"

"Yes."

James twitched, but Xenia's tender hands held him in place.

"Tell us what you did with her."

"I caught her after dinner and dragged her to the room behind the tapestry in the hallway. We made her drink the potion and changed her clothes."

"Who helped you?" James' father's voice was toneless and even impassive, but James saw Hermione stroke his shoulder, as though trying to give him strength.

"My brother, Fritz," the Slytherin's voice was calm and measured; her eyes half-closed. James turned his head toward Faust, who headed for the door after Priscilla's words.

"What potion did you give to Lily?" Harry continued.

"The Polyjuice potion, but there was more to it. I don't know what it was, but she started to obey me. We put her in my uniform; I gave her the parchment and ordered her to walk to the gate; to not speak to anyone and to not stop; to walk out of the gate, unroll the parchment, and do what was written in it."

"What was written on the parchment? Did you read it?"

"Yes, it said that she had to Apparate to the barrier before the Platform 9¾ at King's Cross railroad station. She was to wait there until she was picked up; to not talk to anyone and to not move."

"Who asked you to do this to Lily?" Harry's voice broke a little after all; he was breathing heavily, and his face was white.

"Tom."

"Tom who?"

"He is the main werewolf."

James could hold back a moan. Merlin, his sister was captured by werewolves! This… sent a defenseless girl into the paws of werewolves!

"Shhh, darling, shhh," Xenia put her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to the back of his head. "Everything will be all right. Trust us."

"How did you get in touch with him?" this was Hermione's voice, because Harry seemed unable to speak anymore.

"My oldest brother Drake told me where to find them."

"Why did he tell you that?" Hermione only looked up for a moment when Faust entered and with him – the frightened Fritz Zabini.

"I wrote to him that Scorpius Malfoy was dating Lily Potter and that he disgraced me before the entire school. I wrote that I felt bad and that I hated Lily Potter. Drake wrote back that if I wanted to take revenge, I had to meet him in Hogsmeade. We met and Apparated to a Muggle area of the town. Drake told me where to go. I went to a flat where the werewolves were. Tom told me what I had to do."

"Did he give you the potion and the parchment?"

"No. An Auror gave them to me this morning."

"What Auror?" James saw his father flinch.

"The one from the Hogwarts security team. He was supposed to open the gate as soon as Potter drank the potion."

"Harry, we have to go to Kingsley…" Hermione was looking fearfully at her friend.

"Wait," James' father said, looking at Fritz Zabini. "Do you know what potion it was?"

The other shook his bowed head. This boy seemed to be less brave than his sister.

"I think that it was the Potion of Arachna…" Hermione was looking at the Dumbledore's portrait. The Headmaster seemed to have been paying close attention to the conversation, as he nodded in response.

"What is that?" McGonagall looked up at Slughorn whose hand flew to his mouth in horror.

"It was discovered in Ancient Egypt; a strongest poison," Hermione said, shifting her gaze to Priscilla Zabini who relaxed in her chair. "During medieval times another property of this potion was discovered. If it had a little bit of a house elf's blood added to it, and then mixed with Polyjuice Potion, it had a dangerous effect. The person who drank the mix could not disobey an order of the person whose appearance he or she took on; that is, the person whose particle had been added to the Polyjuice Potion. It is impossible to overcome the influence of the Potion of Arachna; it is even stronger than the Imperious Curse. Works for two-three hours…"

"How is it that you know about this terrible potion, Mrs. Weasley?" Professor Slughorn asked, breathing heavily.

Hermione once again glanced at Dumbledore:

"It was in the book that I summoned at the end of my sixth year from Professor Dumbledore's study. The book on Dark Magic that talked about…" she looked first at James and then at Scorpius but then continued, "… about horcruxes."

Dumbledore on the portrait nodded; Slughorn sighed.

"I still think we need to go see Kingsley," Hermione looked at Harry who nodded curtly.

"I shall go too, because we have to find Lily…"

"Please stay, Mr. Potter," Mancilli spoke for the first time from where he sat next to McGonagall's desk. James noticed that the Healer's forehead was beaded with sweat and that he was breathing deeply and slowly.

Harry looked askance at McGonagall and she nodded, as if also asking him to stay. Hermione shrugged her shoulders and walked toward the fireplace.

"If I learn anything new, I shall let you know," she threw the Floo powder into the grate and vanished amidst the emerald flames.

"All right," McGonagall turned toward Slughorn, "Horace, take Mr. and Ms. Zabini to the room on the fourth floor. They shall be separated from the other students for the time being."

The Head of the Slytherin house nodded and escorted the Zabinis out of the room. Faust, as if not quite trusting his colleague, went along.

"Mr. Malfoy…" McGonagall began, but James interceded:

"Let him stay. He has the right."

Harry nodded in agreement and then turned to Mancilli:

"Do you know something we don't?"

The Healer shifted his gaze to the Dumbledore's portrait. The grey-haired wizard nodded:

"I think we can tell them the truth now, Theo."

Xenia's arms wound tighter around James' neck and he realised that he was about to learn something he might not like. He didn't care though – as long as that something helped save Lily. As long as it kept her safe…

**Well, we are at the end of Part VIII and past the middle of the book. More cliff-hangers. Well, knowing where to end the chapter is also a writer's gift. :)**

**I also find it interesting how James, who knows Malfoy's weaknesses probably better than anyone else, also had complete trust in his integrity and judgement, to the point of suspending critical thinking... If I am ever up to translating the sequel to this story, we'll see more about that...**


	73. Part IX - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**Part Nine. Arachna's Trail**

_**Chapter 1. James Potter.**_

Merlin, this is… Inconceivable! Impossible…

He sat still, hanging on to every word, afraid to miss something and get completely lost; in his feelings; in himself.

"I knew that your children, Harry," Dumbledore looked at his favourite student, "were in danger, because it was the only way for your enemies to get to you… Then Professor Snape," everyone turned toward the portrait of a black-haired wizard who, clearly disdainful of this attention, was studying his fingernails, "suggested installing mental threads…"

"Wow," one of the portraits, theretofore silent, breathed in astonishment. Apparently, someone did understand; however, that someone wasn't James and, judging by their reaction, neither was it his father nor Malfoy.

"It is a special magical skill that requires a lot of energy from the Legiliment who is doing it. Fortunately, we have two wizards with us who are highly skilled at it; therefore, we decided to cover our bases, just in case," Dumbledore smiled a little, emanating serenity. "Thus, Theo and Xenia," he nodded at the girl who was still standing behind James, "agreed to link themselves by means of mental threads to James," the old wizard smiled faintly at the youth, "and to Lily."

"What do 'mental threads' mean exactly?" Harry spoke, looking by turns at Dumbledore and Mancilli. James and Scorpius exchanged glances.

"It is a special connection," the Healer explained. "It is uni-directional – yet, quite strong. It allows the wizard who cast the spell to be aware of the other's conscious thoughts and feelings; to do so without visual contact. To read. To perceive. To interpret."

"So you are connected to my children's consciousness, aren't you?" Harry clarified.

"No. Only to Lily's," Mancilli glanced flittingly at the faces of James and Scorpius. The Gryffindor could practically feel the wave of emotion emanating from Malfoy. Indeed, one couldn't be very happy in the knowledge that this goblin was inside his girlfriend's head…

"Wait," James finally caught on, "this means that you did it to me too?" the chap turned to Xenia and looked down at her. "Did you get into my head?"

She merely nodded, and James didn't even know how to react to this.

"When did you manage?" he asked, frowning a little.

"I know when they did it," Scorpius sad, looking derisively at Xenia. "It was that nighttime stroll to the Gryffindor tower, wasn't it?"

James understood even less now. Yet, he was not able to ask a next question because his father cut in:

"Does this mean, Theo, that you can get in contact with Lily?" hope briefly showed in Harry's voice.

"No. Not to get in contact with her. I can read her emotions; her condition; her stream of consciousness. I cannot… convey anything to her."

"But, Harry, we now have a good chance to find out where your daughter is," Dumbledore interjected. "Theo found out that something happened to her this afternoon and even determined that she was walking toward the gate…"

"Because Ms. Potter was thinking about it," Mancilli clarified. James was also looking hopefully at the Healer. He would forgive this goblin anything and everything if only he would help find Lily.

"What is she thinking about now?" Harry stood next to McGonagall's desk.

"She is frightened. She is in absolute darkness. And her arms are hurting."

"Why?" Malfoy jerked toward Mancilli, as though he could get him closer to Lily.

"I cannot say for sure," Theo closed his eyes and pursed his lips. "She does not know it herself."

"What is she thinking about?" Harry wanted to know that his daughter was all right; that she had not been harmed; yet…

"She is thinking of a silver forest," Mancilli opened his eyes and looked straight at Scorpius Malfoy.

A silver forest? James looked back at Xenia, as though she could solve this puzzle, but she merely shrugged her shoulders. Malfoy must know, however, judging by the shadow of a smile on that aristocratic face of his. What silver forest?

Harry was also gazing with slight amazement at Theo – the only link that was now connecting them to Lily and giving them hope.

"Only about a forest? Then she does not know where she is being held, does she? And by whom?"

"No. She is in the dark. She can't see anything. She is thinking about you, Harry. About your wife…" and the Healer once again looked up at Scorpius.

Harry slumped into a chair, burying his face in his hands. Silence fell, because everybody was waiting. For something, anything. McGonagall's eyes were trained on Theo like everyone else's.

James turned around to Xenia and whispered:

"So, you and I are connected, aren't we?"

"Yes," she leaned over so that she could whisper right into his ear so as not to disturb anyone.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't have time. We did it last night. Just in time…"

"Why at night?"

"When a person sleeps, his or her mind is at its most relaxed and is easier to connect to another mind," she explained, stroking the back of his head. It felt soothing. "Especially since I taught you the basics of Occlumency."

James nodded. Possibly, if someone told him even a couple of hours ago about such liberties being taken with his mind, he would not have been this calm. Now was not the time for shows of protest, however. They just had to save Lily. Just? Damn, how did it… How could they have failed his sister like this?!

"Light," Theo spoke suddenly, and everyone flinched. James' father got to his feet, looking hopefully at the Healer. "A soft light… Pain in her arms."

"Is there anyone else in there?" Harry asked softly.

"I don't know; she is not thinking about it. She simply sees the light. And it encourages her a little bit."

"Where is she?"

"A room; a small room; a cot; shelves; a table," the Healer's forehead was once again beaded with sweat; his fists were clenched tightly. It must be incredibly hard – to read and interpret another's mind; to feel another's fears. James even felt sorry for Theodic Mancilli. "A cup… a chain made of paper clips… a ball of green yarn… a book… she found a book… black cover… a dedication: _'To dear Ray, a lover of Sheakspeare, from loving Emma'_… stone walls; no windows; no doors. She is scared… Her arms hurt. They are bleeding…"

"What?" Harry practically jumped up in the air, knocking half the items off McGonagall's desk. "What's wrong with her hands? Has she been bitten?"

James suddenly noticed that Malfoy, his face white as a sheet, was backing toward the door.

"I have to step out," the Slytherin forced out with difficulty, but no one paid any attention to him. No one except James. He stood up and followed his friend. Only his father and the wary Xenia might have noticed his departure.

"Malfoy, wait!" James rushed from behind the gargoyle and saw Scorpius running down the hall. "Stop, wait for me!"

He caught up with his friend and stopped, breathing heavily, his hands pressed against his knees.

"I know where Lily is…" Malfoy whispered, not looking at the Gryffindor.

"You do? Then we need to tell the others; they…"

"No," Malfoy stated categorically and James immediately straightened up, staring at his friend.

"Malfoy, she is my sister!"

"I know! Dammit, Potter, she is at Malfoy Manor!"

James recoiled from the Slytherin, feeling his heart jump in fear:

"What made you think that?"

"The book. She was holding my book. I know that dedication by heart!" Scorpius fingers were opening and closing around his wand. "Do you see? I cannot bring Aurors into my home. I have to find out… everything for myself first."

"Scopius, what if…"

"I am not so sure," Malfoy was staring at his feet. "Because Lily is not at the mansion itself; she is in the secret room beneath the park cottage… I hid Sheakspeare there after my father had found it… Maybe…"

"I am going with you," James stated firmly. He did not make that decision because of the Gryffindor spirit or because of his sister. He simply did not want to leave his friend alone to deal with all this. "I. Am. Going. With. You."

"Dammit, Potter, if I am right… You would be coming willingly into their paws! And then they will have two Harry Potter's children!"

"It's all right. After all, I can always use the link to Xenia to show her the beautiful views of your family estate…" said James with feigned bravado. "Why are we standing here? Let's go, quickly!"

"Fine," the Slytherin capitulated, "just, mind you, no heroics… We'll use the secret passage and Apparate from there… Remember – you cannot even breathe without my permission, ya hear?!"

The two friends ran down the steps. James' heart beat wildly with anxiety and foreboding. What if Malfoy's parents were culpable in Lily's kidnapping? What will happen to the Slytherin? How can a man be put before a choice like this and how can one make such a choice?!

They Apparated, holding hands, to the seemingly impassable wall of trees, lit by the gloomy autumn sky. The place seemed deserted.

"Where are we?" James took out his wand, but Malfoy merely shook his head. To James' surprise, he bit his own finger and waved it in the air before the tree line.

The air before them suddenly heaved like water, forming an arched passage through the forest. Scorpius grabbed his friend's hand again and they passed through the strange air.

James couldn't believe his eyes. They stood with their backs to a tall stone wall and before them was a vast park, already devoid of foliage and looking almost black and inhospitable. In the distance he saw a huge white mansion. There were lights in several windows.

"Don't move," Scorpius whispered, watching the trees in the park closely. Judging by what James saw, the whole estate was as impressive as Malfoy's house. "Dong."

With a bang, a house elf appeared before them, dressed in a towel embroidered with the Malfoy coat of arms.

"Young master…" the house elf began, but Scorpius ordered him to be quiet.

"Dong, are there any strangers in the house?" Scorpius asked in a whisper.

"No, sir," Dong's reply was just as quiet.

"Have there been? Has father been meeting with anyone new?"

"No, sir."

"Zabinis?"

"No, Mr. Zabini hasn't visited in a long while."

"Where is my father now?"

"He and the Mistress are having dinner in the dining room, sir."

"All right. Have you noticed anything strange happening on the grounds?"

"No, sir; you know that we cannot leave the house without permission, sir."

"Fine. Now you have to do something…"

"Whatever you wish, sir…"

"Sneak unnoticed to the park cottage. See if there is anybody around it or whether anything suspicious seems to be going on. If someone sees you, I am ordering you to screw your ears off, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," the house elf agreed almost fervently and vanished, fading into the darkened bushes.

"Screw his ears off?" James asked, looking at Malfoy.

"This way he will do what it takes not to be noticed… Damn, dammit!"

"What?"

"There is an old wand hidden in that room. It works… Damn, I hope that Lily doesn't do anything stupid…"

"Maybe she won't find it?"

"I hope so," Scorpius peered anxiously into the park, presumably in the direction of the park cottage.

Meanwhile, James diligently kept his mind closed against an occasional gentle probing. Xenia was looking for them, but it was too soon to give her the view of the Malfoy Manor. This was Scorpius' family and it was up to him to make the decisions.

Forgive me, Xenia, but it was you who taught me this. I love you, this you may learn, because I have not said it to you out loud… I would have liked to be with you right now in the Room of Requirement… Or behind the tapestry on the third floor… I adore your cool hands…

James worked hard supplying Xenia with thoughts about her and her hands…

"Master Scorpius, sir," Dong appeared from nowhere, winking his huge eyes conspiratorily. "There is only the new gardener near the park cottage, sir… There is someone inside the building, but Dong was afraid, sir, to be spotted…"

"We have a new gardener?"

"Yes, sir, for three weeks now, sir…"

"Shut it," Malfoy asked and then turned to James. Scorpius' face now looked less murderous than it had ever since he saw Lily in Priscilla Zabini's body, Apparating to who knew where. "Potter, you…"

"I am coming with you," James stated categorically. "Listen, are you sure that this has anything to do with your…"

"No, I am rather certain of the opposite," Malfoy looked toward the big house in the distance. "Potter, my father is just a cowardly ferret, remember?.. Well, enough gabbing; otherwise we'll linger until your little sister finds the wand and kills all werewolves without our help…"

"Not funny."

"Wasn't meant to be," Malfoy chortled. Then he turned back toward the elf:

"Now, listen carefully. You must transport Potter and me into the secret room beneath the garden cottage. Do you remember it? You were there with me once…"

"Yes, sir Scorpius…"

"Let's go then," Malfoy put out one hand to the elf and the other – to James. "Remember, Potter, nothing spontaneous…"

The Gryffindor nodded and a moment later fell into the suffocating darkness. Oh how he hated Apparating!


	74. Part IX - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

_**Chapter 2. Lily Potter.**_

Lily felt as though all that had happened with her was just a part of a nightmare. But for her aching arms and the frightening near-absolute darkness, Lily could have convinced herself that she was having a bad dream.

Yet, there was no masked man in this nightmare.

And there she was, a silly girl, thinking about him, hoping against hope, that he would come and rescue her. Shield her from whatever was to come. Scorpius, my love, I am so scared…

What happened after dinner at Hogwarts seemed to her initially the stuff of a bad joke on the part of Slytherins. Someone's strong arms, someone's vicious eyes. A terrible-tasting potion, which she was forced to swallow. It leaked down her chin and neck; making her choke; making her think that she was about to die. Because this was poison, slowly crawling down her veins, filling every cell of her body with horrible pain…

And then she was no longer herself. Her body was no longer hers. It was someone else's, stronger, looser. Her perception altered. Even the air felt different, the space, the temperature. Colours felt different – brighter, hard on the eyes.

And the alien will, which she could not resist. Not at all. She might be thinking that she didn't want to go anywhere or do anything, but the body did what it was told. And Lily walked willingly into the grip of terror. Because she was well aware of where and why she was going.

There was the horrible thought – Mummy. Did she walk into the jaws of death as easily? Or was it even easier for her, since she didn't know what lay in store?

Then came the thought of her father – forgive me, Daddy, you shall hurt again. You shall hurt terribly again.

Jim. Scor. Scor!

Lily gasped in the pitch-black darkness. She lay on something hard and smooth. If she didn't move, her arms didn't hurt as much. Why were they hurting? When she was first laid here, her arms were drenched in hot moisture. Blood?

When did she manage to injure her arms? When did the pain start? Oh, yes, when she Apparated to King's Cross. Lily didn't know how to Apparate. She was never taught. Zabini, whose body the Gryffindor borrowed for a time, did know, but it was not enough. That must be why her arms hurt.

Lily moved her fingers. Everything seemed to be in the right place, and the ache was subsiding. The bleeding had stopped and the blood dried. If only she had a wand…

But no, her wand was taken from her by the man who grabbed her by the shoulders almost as soon as she appeared at the barrier at the railroad station. He had been waiting for her. He instantly Apparated with her to an alley. Wrought-iron gate and beyond it – a wide pathway leading to a huge mansion; hedges, trees.

Then she felt cold – the man cast the Instant Darkness Powder. He walked easily through the gate, but instead of following the main alley, led Lily down a path through the park. She could not refuse, because that what she was forbidden to do back at Hogwarts – to resist. And the potion was still working.

And then they were here in the dark. And she couldn't even remember how they got here. She must have fainted – from the pain in her arms and loss of blood; from fear or the effect of the potion. Whatever the reasons were, she woke up here.

She was alive so far, and almost unscathed. Therefore, she was meant to be bait… For her father. Dad, Daddy, don't. I am begging you, don't.

Her thoughts wandered, because she was scared. Scared of the unknown and of the dark.

If only she could be back in the silver forest where it was so nice and peaceful. Where she was with her silver man. Scor… He would have rescued her, protected her, held her.

Lily couldn't believe that it was so recently that she was in his arms, that he was kissing her, caressing her, that they were together amid snow and fire.

She gave in to the reminiscences; it became easier to breathe; she was not as scared anymore. Because death is not as frightening if there was once a silver forest in your life, and a man you loved, who conjured this miracle for you. When you knew what it meant to love and be loved in return…

"Scorpius," she whispered, just to hear the sound of a human voice.

Suddenly, a light came on. She flinched, shrinking back. Yet there was no one there. Only a faint gleam of light in a jar in the far corner of the room. Why did it come on?

Lily sat up, tucking her feet under her, and looked around her. A small room. Stone walls. Shelves, most of them empty. A table; a cup on it someone must have left behind. Just an empty cup. A clew on the floor? A clew? Yes, a green clew.

Lily ventured from the cot on which she had lain. Her arms ached. She looked at them – they had Splinched, after all. Yet, it wasn't as bad as it could have ben. Dried blood on her wrists and forearms. Lily winced, not wanting to see the details and hoping that it could be cured…

Paper clips, linked into a chain. They hung on the nail driven into the stone wall. What for? Dust was everywhere. Not a single window. No door. It simply wasn't there.

Merlin, what is this place?!

A book. In a niche, almost completely shrouded in darkness, lay a book. Lily picked it up. A Muggle book with a black cover. "William Shakespeare. Tragedies." Lily turned the first page. A dedication in cursive. Who was Ray? Was he the one who brought her here?

Suspense. It was killing her. She was scared. She was cold. She was in pain.

Lily put aside the book and began feeling around the darkened niche with her hand. Something scratched across the open wound and Lily hissed with pain.

A stick. Merlin, a wand!

Lily couldn't believe her eyes. Because there in the niche there was a wand. A weapon.

She struggled to breathe evenly. She sat down on the cot, tightly gripping her only hope. Now she would not surrender easily. She had a weapon.

The girl tucked her feet under her and was still. Thinking, contemplating. She was waiting. Someone had to come. Or did they want to starve her to death? Did it not matter to them what would happen to her?

Daddy, just don't give in. Don't, Daddy, because it will be in vain.

She didn't notice the passage of time. She must have nodded off, because when she opened her eyes, there was a man there, looking at her. His eyes were frightening, yellow, with small pupils. Disheveled hair. Tattered clothes.

"Who are you?" Lily asked, her voice slightly hoarse after a long silence, gripping the concealed wand in her hand. Where did he come from? Where was the exit?

"You are scared," the man smiled with malicious joy, sniffing at the air. "You are scared, you little…"

No one had ever called Lily that before. She didn't reply, knowing that she would only get one chance to attack this big and strong adversary.

"What do you want?" she tried to speak calmly. Did he have a wand?

"For blood to flow from your tender throat… Well, I shall not have to wait long…" the man grinned, taking a step toward her. "When your illustrious hero-daddy finds out that you have been gone, he will do whatever it takes to save his little red-haired baby girl… And this will happen very soon… And for now… I need a lock of your hair."

"No," Lily shook her head, aware that it sounded silly. "What do you need it for?"

"We'll send it to your father, to ensure that he believes us… And we shall use it for the potion, for when the great Harry Potter arrives to trade himself in for you…" and this horrible man burst out laughing.

Lily knew that she would not get a better chance than this, and sharply waved her wand: "Stupefy!" Her tormentor, not expecting resistance, crumpled to the floor, his legs buckling awkwardly under him. The spell hit him squarely on the chest at close range. Lily hoped that he would be out for a while.

She was just about to get up from the cot and try to find an exit (there had to be one, after all!), when something strange began happening in the middle of the room. A clap. Then a shout: "Dammit!" Something big crashed from the table and lay prostrate on the floor.

Lily couldn't believe her eyes. Her brother was sprawled on the floor in the middle of the room, his lurid face promising terrible vengeance. Beneath him she could see the big bare feet of a house elf, twitching as though the elf was almost smothered to death. And aside from all that, surveying the scene before him with a comical expression on his face, stood Scorpius Malfoy, arms crossed, twirling his wand:

"I knew that I shouldn't have taken you with me, Potter. It is a good thing that there are muting charms on this place," the Slytherin then looked at the unconscious body at Lily's feet and grinned. "It turns out that we didn't have to hurry, everything is under control here already."

"Scor," Lily breathed, finally, shaking off her stupor, and in the next moment whe was in his arms. His smell, his hands, his breath. Fear receded, tension abated, and she let herself cry on his shoulder.

"Come, come," he whispered in her ear, stroking her back," there is no need to cry now, after you managed to stun one of them already. You should be proud of being stubborn enough to find the wand and brave enough to attack your jailer. It is over, now it is our turn to take care of you…"

James got to his feet and dragged the half-smothered elf from under him:

"Great, no hug for your brother? It was me, by the way, who almost died after crashing from the table," James grumbled genially, and Lily's arms were around him in an instant, as she sobbed and smiled through her tears.

"How did you come here?" she wiped her cheeks, wincing slightly.

"All of that, later," Scorpius took her hands in his carefully and examined them. "Damn, I shall quarter this bastard and hang his entrails out to dry on flag posts…"

"Can't we discuss this in a more pleasant place?" James had already gone over to the stunned man and tied him up. "How do we get out of here?"

Scocrpius looked up and pointed at the trapdoor in the ceiling.

"You can only come out of here if you entered through the trapdoor… therefore, we will be using Dong again… Merlin knows how many of them are still out there… And how long will they wait for their shaggy friend to return… By the way, Potter, don't you think that this guy belongs to your fan-club? His hairdo looks so familiar somehow…"

"Malfoy, can't you be serious just this once?" James retorted. "In case you haven't noticed, we are in a dungeon, and above us are Merlin knows how many wonderful and good-natured beasts, lying in wait for us…"

"Don't overdramatize, Potter," Scorpius hugged Lily, as though to reassure her that everything was all right and he was by her side. The girl had already calmed down, because he was there. He would do what it took to save them. How – she would find out later. "We have an advantage – this is my home and my rules…"

Lily stared at the Slytherin in amazement, but he merely winked at her:

"Time to leave now. Dong, can you handle three?"

"Yes, sir…"

In a few moments, Lily found herself outside, in the very park through which she came here. All of a sudden she gasped, sinking to her knees. Pain made everything go dark before her eyes.

"Dammit, Lily," Scorpius caught her instantly in his arms. He felt hot blood flowing down her arms again. The wounds must have reopened after Apparating. "Dong, make sure that no one can escape from the grounds. Take other elves to help. If you see a dog, a wolf or any other unidentified object, grab the tail and swing down, understood?"

Lily felt Scorpius carrying her somewhere, holding her very gently. Someone's cool hands – must be James' – carefully took her by the wrists and placed her hands on her stomach. She felt a little better. Her head swam.

"Malfoy, we have to stop the bleeding!"

"To the mansion," Scorpius clipped. And Lily knew that he was carrying her toward he huge mansion that she had glimpsed before. Was it really Scorpius' home? With this frightening thought, she fainted.


	75. Part IX - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

**This is probably one of the most heart-rending chapters in the book - but also one that makes the book come together. It began as a separate outtake by the author, (and is still posted as a separate piece). ****I wonder if war veterans can relate to this better than any of those who are not... My heart goes out to all who have to go through anything like that.**_**  
**_

_**Chapter 3. Harry Potter.**_

Has anyone ever been inside the dark tunnel of their past?

When you walk down that tunnel day after day, you feel their breathing. Their ghostly stares. Their silent reproach.

Day after day, year after year. The tunnel. The breathing. The pain. The guilt.

You are gasping, unable to draw any air into your lungs, you nearly die with each step, with each passing minute. Yet, you still walk down the tunnel of your past.

Past days. Past actions. Past mistakes. Past feelings.

And you keep hearing them. You see their faces. The faces of those who remained there, in the tunnel of your past.

Their eyes do not berate, they do not express love or hatred.

Silent reproach. This was how you would be looking at yourself. If you were them. So what's in their eyes? Nothing. They just watch.

Step – and there is your father, whose defiance only gained moments of his beloved's life.

Step – and your mother stands between you and your death. Between death and peace. Because if she didn't die for you, hundreds of others would have died. It was her, your mother, who saved the world. Not you. It was her hand that held the wand when you intentionally killed a human being for the first time. Killed for the sake of life. And for the sake of death. The death of those who could no longer hold a wand.

Year after year you hear her screams. And you scream with her. Because back then you screamed too. It is the memory of the flesh, the memory of the senses. You screamed over her body. Year after year, step after step.

The tunnel burrows deeper, twisting and turning, the gloom thickens.

Step – and there is Quirrel. Dead. He died because of you. Because you and you alone were the one whom Quirrel's murderer wanted. You. If it were not for you, he would not have died, discarded by his master. Your hands can still feel his burning skin. You still hear him screaming in the dungeon. And that scream joins yours and your mother's.

Step – a narrow, barely passable tunnel, and the eyes gleaming at the end of it. They had been poked out but they are still gleaming in the darkness of your tunnel. You killed it yourself. You took a life for the first time. In order to survive. In order for your Ginny to survive. In order for her to become _yours_. And you lived because your mother had died for you, Quirrel had died because of you, and because you had killed to save yourself. And _your_ Ginny.

Darkness. Fear. Uncertainty. Such is the tunnel of your life. Day after day, week after week. It is empty here because you granted several years of life. You granted life for the first time, but what good was it? You didn't let the others do the killing, you didn't let yourself do the killing. If only it changed anything. You didn't grant life, only an extension. But a moment. You granted life – and gained pain. Your pain.

Step – there is Cedric. The boy who stood next to you and your death. He died for nothing. Nothing at all. He did not shield anyone, he did not save anyone. He simply happened to be next to you. Next to you and your death. Yet, death found not you – him. Death that was senseless, unnecessary, inconsequential to the outcome of that war. And once again you scream because of this senselessness death, this sacrifice to your good intentions, your stupidity, your belief in fair play. And your scream sounds shrill now because it is for your mother who died for you, for Quirrel who died because of you, and for Cedric who died next to you.

How have you survived, how have you managed to continue crawling down this tunnel? Why did you crawl and scramble, clutching at life? Only to walk in the dark day after day, bumping into walls, hearing the breathing, seeing the faces? There are ever more of them. Many of them you didn'y even know, didn't see them die. But you knew – their death was because of you. For you.

Step – there is your godfather. You granted him a few moments of life, only so that he would die and the fault for his death lay squarely on your shoulders. The fault that is indisputable and unforgivable, burning your heart out with guilt. He lived so that he could be close to you. He lived for you. And he died because of you. And you cannot even see visualize his face because you don't have the strength. You could only choke up with sobs and screams, so horrible that if Sirius could have heard you, he would have come back. And this scream tears your throat apart.

If anyone heard you, they would go deaf; their heart would not be able to bear it. But you have survived. Why? Only to walk on with bloody feet, hands, face, heart, and soul.

What patient master mason forged this endless tunnel for you? Whose nerveless hand charted this path for you to walk alone? The path that a hundred people could not have followed like you did. Who has decided that you – and you alone – have to walk down that tunnel day after day, losing nearly everything, finding, and losing again? Who decided that the tunnel of your personal hell has to be so long? Why didn't it end when you heart burst, blasted apart?

Step – there is Dumbledore. This is where it happened, where you were defeated, broken, trampled. Here is where the way you and the others saw yourself forever changed. Here you are everything. And nothing. Because he did not die for you or because of you. He lived and acted for the sake of peace. And you were merely a weapon, only a bridge to attaining a goal. You were protected, you were loved. But you were also used. And yet you still scream here, because even though you know that you were just a weapon; that you were sent to your death by the Teacher's gentle hand, you were still defeated. Because it is here that you first faced your fear alone. Faced your screaming, faced your hell that was only beginning to raise its walls inside you.

And then – faces. Faces, faces… Not even a step – a half-step, a quarter-step. Many of them you don't recognize because you never knew them, never saw them. They stand aloof. But there are those whose ghostly faces make the choking scream rise in your throat again.

Hedwig. She died because your whole world was falling apart and for you she was part of that world. The link. She connected your world and you.

Moody.

Ted Tonks.

Dobby.

Fred.

Colin Creevey.

Remus Lupin.

Tonks.

Here you are not walking anymore – you are crawling, trying to get away from here, to avoid seeing, hearing, tearing your throat, hearing the tinkling sound of your soul breaking apart, shards struggling to hold on to life.

Step – and Severus Snape is before you. You don't even slow down here because if you did you wouldn't be able to breathe. You wouldn't be able to emerge from his silvery memory. It was terrifying. It was painful. It was the end. This was where you came awake. This was where you were crushed. Completely.

Step – this is where you died. You were dying during the long minutes while you walked from the castle to the forest, really dying. You hadn't been murdered and yet, you were expiring. Because you had finally understood everything. Your fragile world broke down and you found yourself in hell for the very first time. For the first time you were walking down its dark corridors. Because you had lost the last thing you had – hope. And even the shards of your soul were dying – along with you. And when you looked your death in the eye, you, the one you had been, you were already dead.

Betrayed. Crushed. Abandoned. Defeated.

Why didn't you die then? Why? Only because your screams, your pain, and your crushed and trampled heart were not supposed to die. They had to continue showing to the world The Boy Who Lived. Because he – _he_ – saved the world. He saved the world – and died. But you lived. And the world wanted him. And so you became him, you pretended that _that_ you were still alive. And nobody noticed the difference.

Step – it is always cold here. The eyes here are red and the cold unbearable. Here you became a killer. He died by your hand. You. Killed. Him. It was you, and not _him_, not The Boy Who Lived. Because he had remained in the forest, in that clearing. And you went on and killed. You took your revenge. For each scream, for each death in your life: for you, because of you, next to you, for your sake… For every one.

And the tunnel wound deeper, farther, it twisted and turned, but it was still just as cold in there. Just as filled with your pain and the echo of your screams. Because the one who screamed – every time – was not the dead Boy, it was you, the real you, who never wanted to be a hero, never wanted to lose the loved ones in order to, one day, become the savior of the world. And the scream remained trapped in you, all the more piercing from all the days you lived, the years you lived.

You screamed at the grave of the last of the Marauders. Just as shrilly as his son did. Only your scream could not be heard. Because you could not get it out anymore. There was no Boy Who Lived; what was left was only your crushed and trampled life.

And so you lived on. For him and for yourself. Often you could not even separate your life and his. It was for the both of you that you were now walking down the tunnel of your shared past. Of the hell of your past. Only he was dead. And you kept on walking.

Step. Step. Step. More faces, not many of them. Yet you remember each one. You killed them. You. Because you had picked your path once and for all. The path of revenge. The path of retribution. And so you walked, filling the twists of your tunnel with faces, with stares, with breathing.

Step – there is her. She died for him, for that boy. But because of you. Because you didn't raise your wand in time. Because someone killed her first. Here you take a break, because her eyes do not reproach you. She was a mother. And she would have died for you, if you were her son. And there is a silent understanding between the two of you. And you want to stay here.

Step. Step. Step. You live on. For two. More and more for you, less and less for him. Working – for you. With the children – for you. With Hermione – for you. With Teddy – for you. With Ginny – for you and for him. With Ron – for him. With all the others – for him. He lived on, even though he had died.

Step – here died your Ginny. She died because of you. For you and for him. Next to you. You killed her yourself. Everything came together, the entire hell converged in that one spot. Right there. Where your and his Ginny died. You cannot breathe here, you only weep, beat against the stone walls, bloodying your hands and your face. And you scream – with all the other screams combined. The scream that ought to bring down the walls around you. The ceiling above. The floor below. Yet, they stand fast. Hell cannot be torn down.

Step – here your past died. Painfully, but quietly. The past that is the three First Years. The black-haired boy in eyeglasses. The red-haired chap in tattered clothes. The girl with big teeth and bushy hair. They stand, silent. And now it is your fault once again. You failed to preserve the past. You failed to convince Ron that the you, who died in the forest all those years ago, is still alive. That he is still there. That the trio is still intact. It is. Your. Fault. Because the one who had died would have saved Ginny. He who had died could do anything. But he had died. And you lived – for him and for you. But he was gone. And now the past was gone too.

This is where the you who you had been impersonating for so many years became truly dead and buried. You stopped living for him. Because Ginny died. Ron left. Everyone else was gone. The past was gone. The Boy Who Lived died even in you.

Hell. You felt it once again, conjuring another twist within you. Your Lily. Could it be that only a half-step, a quarter-step separated you from her reproach? From your guilt. From the sound of her breathing in the dark.

When would it end? Can no one stop this from happening? Can no one stop you from continuing to carve this horrible tunnel into the heart petrified by grief and unending screaming?

"They are at Malfoy Manor," a tender and confident voice burst in like a ray of sunshine. "Lily is all right. They are all alive and waiting for you."

Harry looked up and met the eyes that were full of warmth – the eyes of the girl who was so tenderly holding his son. She was looking straight at Harry; straight into his soul. And it seemed to him that a thin and timid ray – of hope? – made its way into his hell, into the tunnel of his memories.


	76. Part IX - Chapter 4 - Theodic

_**Chapter 4. Theodic.**_

A Healer. A Legilement. That is all.

This is all it can be. Only that. And nothing more. The world doesn't need anything else from him. People don't need anything else from him. They don't need him. Other than as a Healer. Other than as a Legilement.

This was nothing new to him. It didn't cause pain. Didn't really cause any sensation at all. Just a thought. Just a fact. The fact.

Theo walked down the hallway. He felt tired.

Experiencing fear was hard. Even more so – experiencing someone else's fear.

The mental thread had drained him. He was tired.

Xenia was tired too. But they needed her there. Everything was out in the open now. He was no longer needed. She was. The Potters needed her.

Theo distanced himself from the other's mind. It was dark and empty now. But everything was all right. He would feel the danger, if there was any. It would get through his blocks. He would feel fear. Her fear. The fear of the girl with red hair and green eyes.

It would be palpable. Filled with sticky terror. To the point of shaking. To the point of panic.

Yet she stood fast. Strong. Vulnerable. Yet, strong.

Her strength was in her feelings. Her memories. Her soul. Others needed her. And she needed them. That was her strength. In her vulnerability.

To need others meant to be vulnerable.

Had he ever felt that need? Ever? For anyone? Yes, once upon a time. He needed his Mum. And his father.

Mum. A strange, distant word. He hasn't seen her in a long time. He was a stranger to her now. And she – to him. Because she committed treachery. And he never forgave her.

She betrayed – not him – his dream. His dream of his father. He was eight. He was waiting. She stopped waiting. Into their home came He – his stepfather. A man without a face. A man they did not need. A wrong man.

And Theodic had been waiting. He had been waiting for his father. He had believed. He had dreamed.

And he never forgave her. For the dream she betrayed. For the wrong man. For the forgotten father.

The world knows nothing fairer than a child's fury; nothing crueler than crushing a child's dream; nothing harsher than a boy's retaliation for betrayal.

And retaliate he did. Because revenge meant justice. He put all of himself into that revenge. So that she always knew it; so that she always felt it; so that she always remembered it; the moment when a stranger crushed the eight-year-old boy's dream of his father.

A stranger – that's what she became to him then. Someone he did not need. He banished her from his inner world. Fenced her out of his dream. Day after day. She was glad to see him leave. He knew that she was glad. And that strange man, her husband, he was glad, too.

Father. A dream for Theo. A hindrance for them. For his mother. That was the point where they no longer needed each other.

She had waited for his father for nine years. He was dead, and she waited. She didn't remember him, and she waited. And Theo waited, too. Every day. It was her fault. She had forged his dream. She kept it alive for years. And then she dared to tear it down.

Theo retaliated in force.

That was why nobody needed him. And he needed no one. He simply wasn't needed. _To anyone._

It is better that way, really. No need for cruelty. No need for retaliation.

He has become necessary. Not "needed", but necessary. To his patients. To his students. Now to Dumbledore. To the Potters. To his father. And this ought to be enough.

Theo walked through the evening Hogwarts. Students. So many young emotions all around. Passion. Lust. Curiosity. Contempt. Hatred. Merriment. So many easily discernible emotions. The school was full of them. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Only to close his mind – from everyone.

He turned into an empty hallway. And froze.

SHE sat on the window sill. Her head was bowed. She was holding a letter. SHE was crying. He could almost hear it; hear the tears making their way from her eyelashes to her cheek; to her lips; to her chin.

Was it possible to admire someone in tears? It was. He did. Because SHE was beatuful even in her grief.

The approached her slowly. She wouldn't say anything – because he wouldn't know what to say. What for? Yet, he can help HER. If SHE wants him to. He would do anything for HER. Because he could imagine NEEDING her.

He could.

She looked up. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in disarray. Red-rimmed eyes. Beautiful eyes. Intelligent, shrewd eyes.

HER fingers were trembling a little, gripping the parchment.

He could find out easily – find out what was in the letter. But why? SHE would feel it. Resist. Leave. He didn't want that. He didn't want to be alone. Not right now.

Theo handed HER a handkerchief. A plain white handkerchief. SHE took it; nodded; sobbed – in an endearingly childish way; and smiled – through the tears.

"Thank you," SHE wiped her cheeks. Brushed the hair out of HER face. Smiling now. SHE had just been crying – and now SHE was smiling.

"Bad tidings?" Theo couldn't help himself. He asked – just like regular people did. They asked questions in order to find out. He almost never asked questions. He could find out on his own. Yet today he asked – HER.

"Yes, nothing cheerful," SHE was still sitting on the window sill, a letter still in HER hand. Upset again. SHE so quickly switched between emotions; so easily. "This is from my Dad…"

Yes, of course – the werewolf's daughter. Also a victim. And yet, he couldn't think that of HER. About Lily Potter – yes. About Hermione Weasley – yes. About James Potter – yes. About HER – no. Just like with Harry Potter. They were different. They couldn't become victims.

"He writes that he must leave us…" SHE was looking at her hands; the letters; the words. Theo had guessed it. He had foreseen this outcome. A werewolf. A lonely wolf. Fear. Uncertainty. Family is not for a man in that position. At least, for now. "I didn't understand a word of his explanation…" smiling sadly – probably at HER own thoughts; about her father.

Father.

"I don't understand, and I don't want him to leave… But I also have to accept his decision, don't I?" looking at him hopefully.

Hoping for what?

"But how? How will he live without us?"

'He – without us'. Not the other way around. Theo was perceptive of words; feelings; threads.

"And how shall I explain this to Hugo? How can it be explained?"

A tough choice. To be a daughter – or a sister. To suffer herself – or to help the other in his suffering. Strong. Mature. SHE.

"And why did he decide that he was dangerous? That he must leave us…" as if talking to herself. Not with him.

He flinched – HER teary eyes were looking straight at him.

"Forgive me, it must be boring to you…"

"I can help."

SHE understood. Looking a little warily. Shaking HER head.

She jumped off the window sill.

"I know what you mean… But I don't need it. For some, this could be the right thing," frowning, looking him directly in the eye. "Those who cannot find happy memories on their own. I can."

Silent. Shaking HER head stubbornly. Spoken with conviction. As if SHE had thought about it. Meditated. Prepared. For what?

"And why escape into happiness for a moment, when I would still have to come back to reality? Would a few moments of oblivion change anything in my life? No. You wish to give me an illusion. But I don't need it."

SHE wanted to leave. He repulsed HER. Yet, no one had ever refused before.

"And you, Healer, do you have a happy memory?

Shudder. He looked away. For the first time.

Right into his heart; and soul; where no one had ever gone before.

"Forgive me," SHE turned and walked away.

He stood, rooted to the spot. Watched. Watched HER leave. Leave, taking a part of his soul with her.

Evoking a happy memory. Could he? No. He has never tried. Because there was no happiness in him. Being happy meant being vulnerable. And he was strong.

Only strength worked. It always stayed on his side. Strength against vulnerability. Against betrayal. Against injustice. Against everything. Only strength.

And so he became strong. A Healer. A Legilement.


	77. Part IX - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

_**Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.**_

He would never forget the look on his father's face when, almost knocking the door off the hinges, he carried the unconscious Lily into the dining room. Scorpius would have laughed had it not been for the gravity of the situation and Lily's bleeding arms.

"Mother, I need your help," the Slytherin did not mince words. He would have time to horse around and irritate his father later, once he has made sure that Lily was all right.

"Scorpius," Draco Malfoy seemed to have regained the ability to speak; he looked from his son to James Potter, shifting from one foot to the other next to him. "Where have you come from? And what kind of behaviour is it to burst into the house like this…?"

His father didn't finish – his wife's hand on his shoulder commanded him to stop.

"Oh, forgive me, Father. Hello, bon appetite, let me introduce to you James Potter and Lily Potter; forgive us for interrupting your meal," Scorpius said quickly and distinctly, "and now CAN WE TRY TO STOP THE BLEEDING BEFORE IT RUINS YOUR RUG, FATHER?"

Draco's fists clenched in fury, his chin became even more pointed, his eyes flashed dangerously. At that moment, Scorpius' mother interfered, getting up from her chair:

"Let's go, Scorpius, we need to put her to bed."

The youth nodded and quickly left the room; on his way out, he caught his father's eye, promising, if not an immediate demise, a long and horrible torture. Scorpius didn't care, however, because in his arms was the fragile Lily, her face drained of all colour. He felt her blood soaking through his sweater, but fought not to let his panic overwhelm him.

James hurried alongside him, huffing nervously (like a hedgehog climbing down a fir), and his mother walked in front, calling out to house-elves:

"Dana, towels and hot water; Deeta, blood-restoring potion and healing ointment – they are in the cabinet; Dora, the bed in the small bedroom…"

It took too long to get across the Malfoy house, although Scorpius knew that his mother was leading them to the nearest bedroom. Time, time…

He lowered Lily on the bed, already turned out by the house elves, and stepped back, allowing his mother and the elves tend to the girl.

"Get out," his mother ordered, without turning around. It seemed that Potter was about to protest, but Scorpius knew that it was better to obey Mrs. Malfoy when she used that tone of voice. Besides, what assistance could they provide, other than hang about and be in the way of those who could really help Lily?

Malfoy almost dragged his friend out of the room. James scowled.

"Potter, I didn't know that you were itching to see your sister naked," Scorpius chose his usual tactic. James merely frowned, looking at the door that closed behind them. "Everything will be all right."

"Are you comforting me or yourself?" the Gryffindor snarled.

Malfoy merely shrugged.

"All right, you can stick around here, while I shall go change into something fitting for my conversation with my explanation-hungry daddy…"

"Are you sure that your father had nothing to do with it?"

"Yes, because he has the wonderful, vast, and well-hidden dungeons for holding prisoners. Why would he use some park cottage? Don't call for help yet, ok? Wait till I speak with Father…"

James nodded reluctantly. Scorpius clapped his friend on the shoulder and walked down the hallway to the foyer, stepped into the fireplace, and soon came out in his room on the third floor, in the wing farthest from the foyer. Wow, hard to believe, hippogriff trample you, my own room!

Scorpius ripped off the soiled sweater and tossed it to the floor; then he pulled off his sneakers and entered the walk-in closet in his socks. He immediately saw his favorite gray sweater on the hanger (cashmere, with a silver snake embroidery), and beneath it, on the floor – black shoes. Well, why not?

Scorpius dressed slowly, while deciding what the order of his further actions should be.

First, a talk with Father; preferably, before the heavy artillery showed up (where did he get that expression, niffler take him!) – the Auror guard with the wand-wielding Harry Potter astride a hippogriff at the head.

Then – Lily. To make sure that she was going to be all right, that she was feeling better, that she was resting and feeling more like herself.

And then – revenge; ruthless; without discriminating by gender, age, and degree of culpability. They are all culpable; for each drop of blood, for every tear. The hell with the Aurors and the due process – this is his house and his rules; even the rules of engagement.

Only idiots could pick the Malfoy Manor as a hide-out. And only his father could hire as a gardener a cute beast with a mouthful of fangs and a craving for abducting little girls from school.

He walked over to the fireplace and soon quietly stepped out onto the rug in the dining room where Draco Malfoy was waiting for him. He knew his son would come.

"Scorpius," the first chord sounded as the youth walked toward the table, "explain yourself, immediately!" there, the music is about to begin. The Slytherin stopped at the edge of the rug, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. "What have you got mixed in now?" the hated name was about to be mentioned. Scorpius bent over and wiped a red drop off the white floor. "Potters again, right?" all right, Father, your favorite symphony again, go right ahead. The chap folded the handkerchief and put it carefully in his jeans pocket. "What mess have they gotten you into now? When will you wise up and stop hob-nobbing with these Gryffindor idiots?" no, Father, you have a long way to go to measure up to McGonagall; maybe you should take private lessons. Scorpius walked over to the table and pushed back a chair. "Are you even listening to me? Look at me when I am speaking to you!" should I dance, too? Or sing and walk on my hands for more effect? The Slytherin sat down on the chair, folded his arms, crossed his legs, and put his feet on the table.

Draco Malfoy became nearly speechless at this display from his only son and heir. His mouth opened and closed by turns, while his eyes were nearly bulging out of his head.

"You, milksop, how dare you?!" Scorpius merely grinned – how easy it was to break the levees. "You drag the Potters into my home; you order your mother to treat that girl! You run away from school! And now you also…"

"Dad, let me know when you are done, ok? Because I have something important to tell you. And I hope I get to do it before a crowd of Aurors headed by Harry Potter shows up here…" the Slytherin asked in a bored tone, happy with the effect his words caused. The cowardly ferret. The chap had never thought that his father could become this pale.

"What did you say? Repeat…" Draco Malfoy said threateningly, advancing toward his son.

"Dad, have you got trouble with your hearing? Shall I call for Healers?" Scorpius knew that he was playing with fire, but he was not afraid. He didn't fear his father, and he didn't respect him. His mother – he respected her; his father – no, not for a long time.

"Why would the Aurors come here? What else have you done?" the elder Malfoy growled, knocking his son's feet off the table and looming over him.

"Hmmm," Scorpius sat up straight, looking at his father's contorted face, "this time it has nothing to do with me. It's you, Father, who is in a… touchy situation."

"What?!"

"Well, there is a pack of charming werewolves running around your park as we speak; they abducted Harry Potter's daughter with the intent of killing her, and through her getting to Mr. Potter himself. How do you like them niffler races?"

Scorpius' father recoiled from him, gasping for air. Well, quite an adequate reaction.

"Potter! Potter again!" Draco Malfoy slammed his fist on the table. The place settings clinked. "It is all him… he decided to frame me… He thinks that if he is a clobbered hero, then…"

"Oh, yes, that's just what Potter does to his enemies: sends his defenseless children into the paws of werewolves and sneaks them into the cottages of pure-bloods' mansions. A global conspiracy against the ancient pure-blood families… A perfect headline for the evening issue…" Scorpius got to his feet. "Father, you didn't have anything to do with this, did you?"

The elder Malfoy glanced sharply at his son, who was now eye-level with him.

"How dare you, pup?!"

"Looks authentic," Scorpius nodded, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "This issue is settled then. I hope that next time you will be more careful when hiring gardening staff…"

"I don't meddle into such things," Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes in disdain. "That is…"

"Yes-yes, I remember – Malfoys do not dirty their hands on such scum. Then you shouldn't be surprised that one of these days the Minister's dead body should be discovered on the grounds just when you don't have an iron-clad alibi," Scorpius snapped his fingers, giving his father time to get riled up again. Otherwise, the conversation was becoming boring. "Dong."

The elf materialized in the middle of the dining room, his towel smeared with dirt, a leaf stuck in the fuzzy hair in one of his big ears.

"Young master…"

"Let's forego the ceremony…" Scorpius saw the house elf peer fearfully sideways at his father. "What's on the grounds?"

"As you ordered, sir. Grabbed the tails – and swung down…"

The Slytherin saw his father's face lengthening, but this was not the moment for humour:

"How many?"

"Four, sir."

"No…! Sorry, father," Scorpius said curtly over his shoulder. How did they get onto the grounds? The gardener, of course… "All of them ours?"

"I don't know, sir; it is hard to tell by the muzzles."

"All right, now go find James Potter and tell him to call his father, the Aurors, all of the Ministry; in other words, let him sow panic amongst the powers that be…"

"Scorpius, I shall not allow…"

"Dammit, Father! Scorpius turned sharply toward him. "Haven't you got it?! We have werewolves in our front yard! The ones that have been sought for over a month! They abducted and nearly killed Lily Potter! You shall never be able to wash yourself clean of this! So just stand there and be quiet!"

"You do not have the right to speak to me like this, boy!"

"Father, please, stop being an idiot," Scorpius asked wearily. "You know that I am not afraid of you. All I am doing is trying to help you – you! – can't you get it through that shallow, pure-blood soul of yours?! When Harry Potter finds out about this, he will take this house apart, brick by brick. And, frankly, I would have done the same, had I had any reason to think that you had anything to do with this… Luckily, I happen to know that you are just a cowardly…"

He broke off when his mother walked in, dressed in a different outfit, with the serene expression on the aristocratic face. As far as Scorpius remembered, she always looked like this.

"Everything is under control," his mother precluded her son's question with a light gesture. "She is sleeping. I would have sent her to the hospital, but, given her injuries she cannot apparate, and she is too weak for Floo powder and other means of transportation."

"Master Scorpius, sir…" Dong reminded about his presence. "What shall I do, sir?"

Scorpius looked at his mother. She sat down on the chair and asked calmly:

"What is happening?"

"We have four werewolves on our territory. They abducted Lily."

"Can we deal with this issue on our own?"

"No," the youth shook his head. "It is too serious. We can't hush it down."

"You know, don't you, that our name should not be mentioned?" his mother reminded Scorpius. He nodded and looked at his father.

"I hope that you also understand it. Therefore, Father, when Potter and those with him come here, no loud protesting the impingement of your rights and all…"

"Scorpius, do you know what you are doing?" his mother was looking at him seriously, and the chap nodded once again. "Then do what you think is right. We trust you."

Scorpius merely hemmed, glancing at his father who was fuming alone by the fireplace.

"Dong, go to James Potter; let him open his brain up to the whole rescue party. And then go outside and await their arrival. Do everything that Harry Potter tells you, understood?"

Dong nodded.

"James Potter is in the red guest room. Dora was supposed to take him there to freshen up and relax."

Dong disappeared with a bow, and Scorpius merely grinned: "take him", indeed. Only his mother could make Potter leave his sister even for a moment.

His mother was tough to say "no" to, unless one had a few years' practice at it. Even Scorpius tried not to argue with her often. His father – no problem; he was just a cowardly ferret. He could pretend to be The Malfoy, the master of wealth and mansions, the big cheese, but Scorpius knew full well who the master of the house really was; or, rather, the mistress.

"Did you want to talk about anything else?" his mother gestured to the house-elf to remove the now-cold dishes.

"Yes, Father and I have only gone through the first item on the agenda."

"Scorpius, stop talking like this," Mrs. Malfoy stopped her son with a cold glance. "Draco, dear, calm down. Everything will be all right."

The elder Malfoy seemed torn between panic and fury. However, in his years of marriage, he had gotten used to obedience.

Ferret, Scorpius thought with a kind of tender contempt.

"Well, I would also like to touch on the subject of my mythical engagement, of which I learned from the papers," Scorpius said with a nice smile, sitting back down at the table; he didn't put his feet on it, however. There was a lady in the room after all, and breeding could not be completely ignored even if one had been trampled on by a rabid hippogriff and spit on by a thestral. Even if a hedgehog fell on his head off a fir, he was still Scorpius Malfoy. "I don't know what kind of a delusion you were under and how, but I have no intent to become engaged to Zabini."

"No one asked you!" his father was getting riled up again, still under the impression that he had any say in his son's decisions. "This is all your fault. It was your own behaviour that made such radical measures necessary…"

"Draco," his wife interjected softly, and he broke off, glaring at his rebellious offspring through narrowed eyes. "Scorpius, we have made a decision. You forced us to do it."

"I do not give a fig about your decision, although…" he smirked. "Come to think of it, I should be glad…"

His parents exchanged glances, unsure how to react to the shift in their heir's mood.

"I shall not have to marry for at least ten years. Hail to freedom!"

"Son, explain yourself. You do understand that your engagement to Priscilla Zabini will be announced at Christmas…"

"Aha, from her cell in Azkaban. A wedding in Azkaban – now _that_ may be taking it a bit too far, don't you think?" Scorpius scoffed, openly gloating.

"Scorpius!" his mother said ominously.

"But I had nothing to do with this. If you want Zabini for your daughter-in-law, you'll have to wait until she is released from prison, where she is sure to be sent. Harry Potter will certainly do everything in his power to make it happen. And if he fails at it – which I doubt – then I shall be only too happy to do my part. There must be something useful in being a Malfoy, after all…"

"Scorpius, what are you saying?" his mother asked, wary now, covering his father's hand gently with her own.

"I am saying that your precious Zabini masterminded the kidnapping of Lily Potter, who has just almost bled to death in this very house," the Slytherin announced triumphantly, feeling malicious satisfaction. "And, in addition, she was aided in it by her two brothers. Fritz, I believe, will get off, being underage. Priscilla and Drake, however, will happily spend a dozen years in adjacent prison cells, planning our wedding…"

Shocked silence fell. Scorpius could practically see the thoughts forming furiously in his father's head about the disgrace about to befall the family; about having to somehow hush up their association with Zabinis, to claim that they were never planning to marry their son to Priscilla. Well, let him occupy his brain with something that is useful to Scorpius for a change.

"All right, let me leave you to your pleasant thoughts," the youth stood up, "call me when the guard arrives."

He did not wait for a dismissal, but simply turned around and went to attend to the second item of his plan.

Lily.

Scorpius noiselessly opened the door to her room. Everything looks pristine and orderly. The elves have removed all traces of administering first aid – there must have been torn clothing, bloody bandages, towels...

But now, in the twilight of the clean room, on the white bed lay a pale red-haired little girl. Indeed, little – so thin, small and fragile Lily looked, covered up to her chest by a blanket, her bandaged arms laid neatly at her sides. The dressings nearly reached her shoulders.

Her red hair stood out against the pillows, sparkling in the light of a single lit candle.

Scorpius walked to the bed and sat down, staring at her face. Young. Beautiful. Pallid.

How dared they to touch her? How dared they spoil this day for her? The day of their mutual happiness…

It was hard to believe that only twenty four hours ago she was pressing against him in a Hogwarts hallway whispering "I love you." Only a few hours ago they were amid snow and fire. And now she lay, so vulnerable, so helpless, only by a stroke of miracle having escaped her mother's fate.

They would answer for it. Each one of them. Later.

He kicked off his shoes and lay down next to her, not touching, not wanting to disturb her sleep.

But she stirred weakly.

"Scor…"

"Sleep."

Her eyelashes fluttered.

"Scor…"

"I said: sleep," he asked quietly, touching her hair.

Lily opened her eyes and her lips moved.

"Potter, do you ever do what you are told?" their eyes met and he felt the ice melting inside him; silver ice.

"I caught your smell…" her voice was weak, quiet, but her eyes looked tenderly, albeit wearily.

"Damn, I need to take a shower," Scorpius stroked her forehead with his fingertips. It was cool. She smiled a real smile then, flinched, and winced.

"Listen, if you are going to be acting irresponsibly, I shall leave. Or better yet, immobilize you with a spell. That way you won't cause yourself pain…" he said a little angrily, but she continued to smile. "What? What's so funny?""

"There is fire in your eyes. Fire on silver," she whispered, closing her eyes, as if trying to memorize it.

He wasn't sure how to respond to her words.

"Thank you."

"For what?" he stroked down her neck to her shoulder.

"For saving me. Again."

"You are welcome, of course, but please, stop giving me chances to be heroic," he grinned, looking into the light green of her eyes. "I may be cutting a nice figure of a Gryffindor, but I feel rather awkward in that role..."

"You are not a Gryffindor," she shook her head, smiling softly. "You are a Slytherin and that is only to your advantage. Because you are showing everybody that Slytherins can be wonderful too…"

Scorpius would have blushed at this praise, had he known how, but instead he found a cause for concern:

"You are shivering!"

"It is cold," Lily answered sheepishly. "Must be the loss of blood…"

"Dammit, why didn't you say something? You need more blankets and warm air blowing on you…"

"No. Just stay with me; it makes me feel better… And warmer," she begged, without any coquetry or airs. And Malfoy understood – it really was better and warmer that way. He slid next to her under the blanket, and carefully pressed her against him. He put his arm under her neck and lay still, holding her.

"That's much better." Lily whispered, pressing her head against his chest. "Although this was not quite what I meant… It would have been enough for me simply to know that you were close."

He remained silent, stroking her shoulder with one hand, and taking his wand out with the other. The jet of warm air streamed along their bodies.

"And now – sleep," he whispered.

"Will you be here?"

"Yes, I'll be here," he said after what seemed a brief moment of hesitation. It is all right, revenge can wait a little. They aren't going anywhere.

For every tear. For every drop of blood.


	78. Part IX - Chapter 6 - Hermione Weasley

**_Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley._**

She stood before the tall wrought-iron gate. Each flourish echoed with dull ache in her body. The memory of the flesh. It was not very acute in Hermione, but how could she forget that it was the path beyond the gate that she once followed to the excruciating pain of the Cruciatus Curse? She couldn't help remembering.

And Harry experienced it more than once…

Six Aurors who accompanied Hermione were eying the main alley of the Malfoy Manor with suspicion.

They received Harry's message as they were wrapping up the search of Drake Zabini's "Potion Master Shoppe". Of course, he had been long gone, forewarned by Zig.

Zig. He was the traitor. He was the one sabotaging the Auror operations: every time they raided yet another werewolves' hideout, everyone would had been gone. He was able to warn them because he was right in the middle of the investigation. He could unlock the Hogwarts gate, because he was the leader of the security detail, and he had high access privileges to the grounds. He gave Priscilla Zabini the potion and parchment for Lily. He was the one who, sensing that something must have gone wrong after Lily's abduction, alerted Drake Zabini.

They managed to capture Zig, and he now awaited questioning. Meanwhile, Hermione stood before the wrought-iron gate, unsure of what lay in store for her there. Draco Malfoy – a werewolves' accomplice? Unlikely. He had only got involved with Voldemort all those years ago because he feared for his parents' lives. Although, who could know for sure with that ungrateful Slytherin…

A house elf materialized before them; Hermione recognized those eyes and ears:

"Dong!"

"Welcome to the Malfoy Manor, Sir Harry Potter's partner. He asked me to lead you to him when you have arrived."

"Sir Harry Potter's partner."

And they walked – not toward the house, but down a park trail. Everywhere around them were the house elves' eyes – green, brown, dark blue, light blue. They watched the visitors with acute interest and concern.

"Dong, what happened here?"

"I know very little, Sir Harry Potter's partner," the elf squeaked, mincing ahead of them. "Sir Harry Potter shall tell you everything himself – he is at the park cottage."

"Sir Harry Potter's partner." Like an echo inside. And then the answering echo – "Ron".

The Aurors were following behind her, wands at the ready. They fanned out into a semi-circle, shielding Hermione. The thought made her smile a little, and then, first the roof, and then the entire cottage came into view – a sweet-looking cottage with cute windows. In contrast, next to it, beneath a wire-mesh dome whose near transparency belied its sturdiness, four werewolves dashed about wildly, growling, throwing themselves at the cage walls, biting one another, howling, and thrashing on the ground in between attempts to dig their way out.

Three Aurors stood a little aside. Harry came out of the cottage, accompanied by several of his colleagues.

Harry. His eyes looked a little more alive. As usual when he was working. His face did not seem as tight anymore. Lily really was all right then.

"Hello," Hermione looked down. There was an awkwardness between them now, as it often happens when two almost strangers are thrown together because of a common tragedy, only to realise afterward how little they really know one another.

"How do you like the landscape?" Harry nodded toward the werewolves inside the dome.

"Caught everyone?"

He hemmed:

"We can't take the credit. The Malfoys' house elves had simply… clobbered them," a slight grin on his face. He wasn't given a chance to fight, to avenge his daughter in battle – and yet, he was grinning? This would have been normal for anyone but Harry Potter who was always eager to go into the fray. Tired. He must be very tired. "I even suggested awarding them medals, but Kingsley merely laughed…"

Hermione smiled, remembering her own fierce activity in defence of the house elves, back in school. Harry seemed to be thinking about the same, because for a moment there was an understanding between them. Not the old understanding, when they were part of a trio, but a new one; because they _did_ know a lot about each other, after all.

"Still, what _did_ happen here?" Hermione was looking at the werewolves; two of them had worn themselves out and now lay docilely by the dome wall. The other two continued to struggle.

"I only know the gist of it. Let's go," they walked down the trail, followed by five or six house elves, who seemed to be curious about the great Harry Potter.

He told her about the mental threads, and about Theo reading Lily's mind; about James' and Scorpius' mysterious disappearance, with Xenia saying that they had gone to rescue Lily, while Harry's son still managing to conceal their exact location from her; about how tormented they were, knowing what Lily was doing, yet almost completely ignorant of the fate of the boys who had so carelessly rushed into the unknown.

Hermione could only imagine what Harry must have been feeling; because his son went into the werewolves' lair where his daughter was already held prisoner.

How did you bear this, Harry? How did you resist rushing to fight; breaking down walls; turning Heaven and Earth inside out to find your children? How hard has this been for you, Harry? How much of new gray have appeared in your unruly black hair?

"We had already despaired of ever knowing or understanding anything, when Theo said that Lily was with James and Scorpius, that she was feeling happy and relieved. And then he lost his connection to her, but Xenia said that James was alright, and only mildly worried, yet safe…"

Harry spoke, while Hermione watched the house draw nearer in the twilight, ablaze with lights.

"And suddenly, Xenia could tell with confidence that the children were here… Then Kinglsley appeared almost at once and brought news about Zig," Harry's voice quavered, and Hermione thought that this news must have marked his exhausted heart with yet another scar; his petrified heart. "And that you and the Aurors had gone to Zabini's shop… We came here, and the elves dragged in the unconscious werewolves. Dong showed us to the cottage and the room where Lily had been held…"

He said all that without pausing for breath, as though afraid that his emotions would prove too much for him.

"Have you seen the children?"

"Yes, briefly. While the Aurors and Kingsley were arranging for a cage for the beasts, Dong took me there. Xenia is with James now, and Lily is being examined by Madam Pomfrey; we called her in from Hogwarts…"

"What's wrong with her?" Hermione's heart tightened with fright.

"Splinching during Apparating," they stopped in front of the main porch. "It is all right, she will recover soon."

"Harry, why this place? Have you figured out if Malfoy…"

"No, he had nothing to do with this. Scorpius said so, and I believe him…" The ever-trusting Harry Potter. He must have seen the skepticism in her face and added: "Kingsley is talking to Draco Malfoy now. Yet, I think that Scorpius is right – his father simply needs to pay more attention when hiring new staff…"

They stood in the gathering twilight, in the cold wind, yet neither was in a hurry to get inside.

"Scorpius Malfoy saved Lily's life yet again…" Harry grinned. "Quite the irony of fate, isn't it? We didn't save his father's skin for nothing, then…"

Hermione returned his grin. There again was that feeling of connectedness between them. Not the old – a new one. The past that was no more was helping them in the present.

"Are you not afraid of owing a Malfoy?"

"I am not afraid of anything anymore; except that help might not come in time one of those days," he said tonelessly, looking out into the distance; inward; into the past that was gone once Ron left; into the past where someone so often came to the rescue of The Boy Who Lived; and yet, where just as often help was not there for so many others – for those whose death weighed so heavily on Harry's conscience all these years.

Was the past echoing inside Harry as painfully as it was in her? Like an amputated limb that would throb for a long time to come…

Ron. How could you do this to us? To me and to Harry! Harry and I… That's how it is then…

So much happened during the past few hours that it seemed, Ron had been gone for weeks, not just one day. Yet, the pain still reverberated in her chest with the dear and still familiar name – Ron.

"We have to solve this puzzle as quickly as possible," Harry seemed to be talking to himself, continuing an internal dialogue. "We have captured so many of these beasts; we got Zig… And then there is Dumbledore who is holding something back…"

"Dumbledore?"

"Yes, because there has to be a reason for Theo and this mysterious Xenia to have shown up at Hogwarts. I have yet to deal with her and James', apparently, very intimate relationship… Legilements, both of them. And my youngest son, who Dumbledore seems to be using in yet another one of his games. Again…" a muted moan from the very depth of Harry's soul. Hermione knew how painful it was for him to realise that his youngest son became a weapon, just like Harry had been once. And Hermione was certain that Harry would do whatever it took to protect Albus from walking in his footsteps.

"Let's get inside," Hermione shivered and walked up the steps. The door was unlocked – people must going in and out all day today. They entered the vast foyer hung with the many family portraits. A familiar foyer.

Yet, Harry did not head toward the living room they once had the honor of visiting, but turned into a hallway to his right. They soon passed a fireplace hall, and entered a large room with a long table in the middle and a green rug on the floor, apparently, the dining room.

Kingsley sat at the table with a cup of something hot in his hand. Next to him sat Draco Malfoy's wife – Hermione's job brought them together a few times. Did she like Asteria Malfoy? Probably not. Yet she did not cause such singularly negative feelings as her husband who stood by the window. That despicable physiognomy.

Scared, eh, you ferret? Afraid of being mixed up in something serious? Sure you are, it shows plain as day on your face. Oh, how you shudder at the very thought that your name would appear in the papers; that you would be mentioned in connection with the abduction of Harry Potter's daughter. Still as much of a coward as ever.

Scorpius Malfoy entered the room.

"How is Lily?" Harry turned toward the young man at once. He must have been with Madam Pomfrey.

"Everything is fine; she can get out of bed tomorrow and use the Floo powder for transportation," Scorpius nodded courteously at Hermione. "What shall happen to Priscilla and Fritz Zabini?"

"They are at Hogwarts so far; we shall be deciding their fate tomorrow morning," Kingsley finished his tea – or coffee? – and relaxed in his chair. "Scorpius, could you venture a guess at how the werewolves could have infiltrated the property?" Kingsley fixed the Slytherin with a heavy stare.

"Quite easily," Scorpius shrugged his shoulders. "One can pass through the main gate only if he or she is a Malfoy; has been granted permission to enter by a Malfoy; or is in the company of a Malfoy. Therefore, a problem to enter is non-existent, especially if we take into account that the urns with Grandfather's and Grandmother's ashes have vanished from the shelf in the living room."

Hermione was ready to burst out laughing, especially as she caught the younger Malfoy's eye, winking at her. It appeared the youth was amused by the situation.

"Who did that and how?" Draco Malfoy practically jumped.

"How do I know?" Scorpius smirked. "Maybe we should ask the gardener once he has shed the fur and lost the tail?"

A comical situation, indeed. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's ashes stolen right from the living room of their own mansion.

"Besides, as far as I know, there are three more urns with ancestral ashes in this house; therefore, I would not be at all surprised if one day we are to have a wolf masquerade ball here. And now, if you'll excuse me, I shall take my leave."

The grown-ups watched the young man leave. Hermione exchanged glances with Harry – both seemed on the verge of bursting into laughter. Yes, this was, indeed, quite a blow to Malfoy.

"Harry, do you mind looking at the scene of the misappropriation of the remains?" Kingsley also seemed cheered up by this little discovery. "Meanwhile, we shall wrap it up with Mr. Malfoy…"

Harry nodded and walked out of the dining room, as Hermione watched the Chief of the Aurors fill out papers and hand them to Mrs. Malfoy, while telling her something.

There was only one thought buzzing in her head – the living room. Was it the same one?

She turned and hastily left the dining room. Down the hallways. Across the hall. And, finally, there was the door that was etched in her memory because of the fear and even terror she was feeling back then. Because Harry had been captured and identified. And Voldemort was on his way.

Harry stood dead in the middle of the room. He didn't even lite his wand. The ornate marble fireplace was barely discernible in the gloom. Portraits on the walls. The same crystal chandelier beneath the ceiling.

Hermione slowly walked to the motionless Harry. There was no terror in her, no panic – just a distant echo of her past suffering. It had been simply a Crutiatus – the first and the last in her life. And there had also been Ron; and Dobby; and Harry Potter.

She knew that the memories in her heart were not at all like those that were tormenting Harry Potter day after day; torturing him. He was living inside them, again and again drowning himself in his grief and loneliness; in his memories.

Why was he so absorbed in them? Because no one could release him from it? Or because every day the world looked at him, at Harry, but saw The Boy Who Lived, forcing Harry to be him and to slowly drown in that Boy's past?

Who could truly understand the man who was now standing not in the middle of the living room, but amid his own pain from years past?

Ron, how could you? How could you leave him alone to drown in all that? How could you kill the one thing that was still alive in him – the dream of The Golden Trio? Or did you know that this was the right thing to do? Or did you think that this way you were giving him a chance – to get over, to forget, to become simply an unfortunate man with a horrible past, rather than a hero, not someone who Harry never wanted to be?

Why, Ron? Why did you toss us out, like fish out of water, causing us to nearly suffocate in this unfamiliar, alien air? What made you think that we wanted to find ourselves not in familiar waters, but on firm ground, where there were different laws, different sensations, different thoughts, different feelings? Where we were no longer the same. Where we would have to start everything from scratch, standing amid…

Hermione started when Harry turned toward her. That horrible face again – the face of the living dead.

She wasn't sure who was the first to take that step – the step that separated them ever since Ron had gone, leaving them alone. She embraced him differently now, because they were different. They were the same people, but to each other they felt differently.

She stroked his hair, seeing the new silver strand now shining at his temple. And his arms – familiar, because he had held her many times before – were now almost clutching at her. As if she was his last hope, the last straw that he was grasping at desperately to avoid plummeting down to his death.

And she was holding him the same way. They were left alone in the ruins of their world. And now they would have to learn to live again. And to help one another survive.


	79. Part IX - Chapter 7 - Teddy Remus Lupin

_**Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin.**_

"Ted…"

"Hmmm…" he was engrossed in one of Hermione's many books.

"Ted," Marie continued to whisper, pulling at his sleeve. Lupin tore himself away from the book and looked at the girl – she was sitting next to him on the sofa, staring at Albus who was drawing by the table. "Ted, he is ogling me…"

Lupin looked from Al to Marie:

"Darling, he is only seven."

"Which doesn't stop him from ogling me…"

Teddy looked at Al closer – he really was staring at Marie, pencil in hand and a forgotten motorcycle drawing before him.

"Al," Lupin called out to the boy. Albus smiled and glanced at his father's godson. "Al, is there something you need?"

"No," Al sat on his heels, getting back to his drawing. "But, if you like, I can return to my room…"

"What for?" Teddy asked, confused.

It was an early Sunday morning; they had just had breakfast and were waiting for Harry to, finally, come home. Last night Ted's godfather sent an owl, letting them know that Lily was all right and that he would be back as soon as he was finished. Marie showed up about an hour ago, saying that if food would not come to a thestral, then the thestral would come to the food.

Albus smiled again, looking at Marie with satisfaction. She raised her eyebrows and folded her arms.

"Ted, why is he staring me in the eye?" Marie whispered, leaning slightly toward the young man. Her hair was tickling his neck.

"Damn," Lupin stood up and placed himself between the table and the sofa to block Albus from having eye contact with Marie. "Albus, you know that this is not a right thing to do, don't you?"

"What?" the boy looked at Teddy with his green eyes, now full of contentment.

"It is not right to get into people's heads just because you feel like it," Lupin was nearly certain that the boy had just been entertaining himself with his new-found Legilement abilities he discovered during his rendezvous with the werewolf.

"I didn't mean to," Albus replied earnestly, putting aside his pencil. "I simply wanted to know why Marie was so cross…"

"What made you think that I was cross?" the girl shifted a little on the sofa so that she could see her cousin. Her eyebrows knitted together ominously.

"I could feel it," Albus answered simply, turning his drawing toward the adults. "How do you like my motorcycle?"

Lupin barely glanced at what was supposedly a motorcycle, and then turned toward Marie-Victoire. She flashed him a pretty smile, although her folded arms and the gleam in her eye rather spoke in favor of Albus' interpretation. How could he have missed it? He must have been too concerned about Harry and his children that he was for the first time so inattentive toward the girl he loved. Or was it not the first time?

"Albus, you must not do that anymore," Teddy said gravely, looking at the boy again.

"Why? Is it bad – to know what others want or why they are angry?" Al got to his feet and began packing up his pencils. "That way I can help… Can't I? Or do what the other person wants so that they are not angry anymore…"

Teddy sighed heavily, not sure how to explain such simple things to Albus. Perhaps, he should leave this up to Harry.

"You are picking the easy path for yourself, Albus, and that is not right. Besides, people are entitled to the privacy of their thoughts and feelings," Lupin picked up from the floor the green pencil, almost completely used up.

"But I don't tell them to anyone else, right?" Al took the pencil from Ted and put it away in his sweater pocket. "I shall be in my room for a while…"

The boy took a handful of candy out of the bowl and shuffled toward the stairs. His drawing remained on the coffee table.

"I didn't understand a thing from your conversation, Lupin, so I hope for an explanation of what it was that Albus did wrong," Marie eyed the young man suspiciously.

Teddy rounded the table and sat down next to his girlfriend, his arm resting on the back of the sofa.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Lupin, stop showing off, it doesn't suit you," Marie-Victoire asked, pulling back from him a little. "Another secret of Harry Potter's?"

"Something like that," Teddy smiled softly, knowing that Albus was right – Marie was cross – and he could easily guess at whom.

"I am ecstatic that you keep other people's secrets," she was very upset, and yet, very curious. Still, Lupin was hoping that, as always, his Marie would understand.

"What were you angry about when you arrived?"

"Don't change the subject, it won't help your cause," she chuckled very cutely, smoothing the plaits of her short skirt. "And, anyway, do whatever you want; I didn't come here on a Sunday morning to quarrel with you…"

"What for then?" Teddy grinned, feeling a wave of gratitude toward Marie wash over him. She had always known him better than anyone and accepted him just as he was – always concerned about others.

"In order to see my fiancé at least on a Sunday, what with him always acting as a headshrinker, a body guard, or a babysitter for his godfather's kids," she stood up and went over to the coffee table strewn with long neglected recent newspapers. "What I would like to know is: should anything happen to Uncle Harry on our wedding day, will you miss the ceremony altogether?"

"Don't exaggerate, I shall be there in time for our wedding, no matter what," Teddy sat down in order to contemplate his beloved in all her irate glory.

"Listen, Lupin, can anything at all upset that equanimity of yours?" she arranged the newspapers on the coffee table and picked up Albus' drawing. "And more importantly – do you care about anyone but Uncle Harry?"

"You and Grandma," Ted answered simply, unwilling to get into an argument with her. It would have been an empty outburst on her part, which he didn't enjoy; besides, she would be more upset about it than anyone later, and upsetting Marie was something that Teddy enjoyed even less.

"Oh, Lupin, I can't even quarrel with you properly," the girl said wearily, sitting down next to him. "I snubbed three chaps back at school, and very nice-looking chaps at that; I moved in with you, although my mother threatened to disown me for that and turn you into something unappealing; I became your housekeeper and your cook; I even took on fewer parts at the theatre; and you up and became your godfather's pet, all of a sudden…"

"I know, Marie," he wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger," but I am asking you – please have patience. It's just that all this stuff is happening now…"

"Oh, I do understand," she moved his hand from her hair and intertwined his fingers with her own, slender and delicate. "By the way, Aunt Ginny and Uncle Ron are not exactly strangers to me either…"

They looked up abruptly when out of the fireplace, shaking the soot off her cloak, came Hermione.

"Hello," she smiled tiredly at the young couple. "No letters?"

Lupin saw a glimpse of hope on her face.

"Last night a letter arrived from Rose; it is on the side table by the fireplace," Teddy watched Hermione with sympathy as she picked up her daughter's letter, clearly a little disappointed. She must be waiting for a letter from Ron, still.

Marie-Victoire got to her feet:

"All right, I am off. Teddy, I hope that I shall see you at home by dinnertime at the latest…"

Hermione was reading her letter by the window, while Lupin saw his fiancée off at the front door, from where she Apparated.

"Harry is not here yet?"

Lupin shook his head, stopping a little apart from Hermione.

"Weren't you with him?" he watched her closely as she sank exhaustedly on the couch, leaning blissfully against its back.

"We were, but then he left to accompany Kingsley and the other Aurors to the Ministry around three o'clock."

"Will you tell me where you were and what happened to Lily?" The young man sat across from Hermione. "Or would you rather keep quiet for a bit? Or sleep?"

"Well, I have taken a nap," she shrugged her shoulders, and then gave Lupin a synopsis of her niece's kidnapping and what transpired at the Malfoy Manor. "The other Malfoy remains had not been touched, so we simply wrote the report, and then Harry and the other Aurors escorted the werewolves… He must have gone back to the Malfoys' to see the children off to school."

"And where were you? At the Malfoy Manor?" Lupin waved his wand, summoning the coffee pot and a cup from the kitchen, set it all on the table, poured some coffee he had recently brewed in a cup, and handed it to Hermione. "Drink this – it will refresh you."

"Thank you," she took the cup. "No, I didn't remain at the Malfoys'. I was at George and Angelina's…"

Lupin simply nodded; he understood why Hermione was not in any hurry to return to this house.

"You know, Ted, if I had time and energy, I would have lured you to my department," she smiled suddenly. "You were right about the girl and Sunday. Hogsmead…"

"Meaning?"

"Well, that girl, apparently, was from Hogwarts. Priscilla Zabini. And she really did Apparate from Hogsmead. Sometimes I am shocked that all you do is work in a printing house…."

Lupin merely smiled.

"I think I'll go home, maybe…" Hermione didn't finish, because out of the fireplace came Harry – tired, sleepy, a cloak over his arm, his hair even more disheveled than usual.

"Hi, everyone," he sank into the chair, reached for the coffee-pot, and took a big mouthful of coffee right out of the spout. "Ahhh…"

"Taken the kids to Hogwarts?" Hermione handed her friend her own cup. He took it gratefully and drained almost at once, sighing contentedly.

"No, I met with them right there…" he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You were at school? What brought you there?" Hermione tucked her legs under her.

Lupin was looking from one to the other. He was still sensing a business-like formality between them, but at least they weren't avoiding each other; and they were talking, albeit about work, but talking. It would all work out then, they would recapture the warmth of their relationship, and his godfather would not be alone any longer.

"Yes, and I don't even know how to tell it," Harry set his glasses aside on the side table and closed his eyes tiredly. It appeared that he hadn't slept at all during the night. "Well, it is as though some heavenly forces have decided to take matters into their own hands…"

"Meaning?" Hermione leaned forward a little.

"The four werewolves that were trapped in the cage at Malfoy Manor are now in the hospital," Harry uttered to everyone's amazement, grinning at the expression on Teddy's and Hermione's faces. "When we came for them, the Aurors were just trying to put out the fire within the cage."

"Fire?" Hermione looked confused. "How?"

"Merlin knows," although Teddy could tell by the twinkle in his godfather's eyes that he had an idea as to this Merlin's identity. "We checked the wands of all those present on the grounds – no one cast the spell that set fire under the dome. We even checked the werewolves' wands. Mrs. Malfoy guessed that it was their Winterizing spell that misfired. It turns out that she does not like snow, and so the grounds of the mansion are heated throughout the winter to make snow melt.

"The Winterizing spell does not produce open flames," Hermione remarked.

"Well, whatever…" Harry shrugged his shoulders; judging by his face he was not at all interested in solving the mystery of the spontaneous combustion. "Anyway, all four are in St. Mungo's with heavy burns and poisoning from the fumes; they had to create a special section for them. And then, when we came back to the Ministry and were doing paperwork – Scorpius had asked that their name not be mentioned in the unclassified files – a message arrived from Hogwarts that the brother and sister Zabini were found in critical condition in the room where they had been locked up till morning."

"Fire again?" frightened Hermione sat up straight and was biting on her lower lip; Lupin never took his eyes off his godfather.

"No. We examined them and came to the conclusion that the boy attacked his sister and beat her half to death in a fit of rage, while he was, apparently, in a state of shock after being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse…"

"Merlin," Hermione's hand flew to her mouth, while she looked at her friend in horror. "But why did no one hear them? No one came to their rescue?"

"Nobody heard anything… and the most interesting thing was that they didn't have wands…" Harry set aside his cup, having drunk up all the coffee in the coffee-pot. "Besides, the spell that had been used to lock the door was intact; the door had not been touched at all since last night when Professor Flitwick visited the prisoners and brought them food."

"House elves? Have they been questioned?"

"Yes, all of them – that was why it took us till morning. There is a swarm of them there… In short, nothing…"

"Harry, you do know that…" Hermione began, but Harry stood up.

"We did all we could have. We questioned all suspects. The official story is that their older brother did it – for sinking the operation and selling him out…"

"Madness," Hermione shook her head, looking at Harry. "We have to find those who did it. Harry, this is a violation of the law, an attack on defenseless children…"

"Hermione, these _children_, without so much as a twinge of conscience, handed my daughter over into the paws of the killers," Ted's godfather snapped out, picking up his cloak from the back of the couch. "And don't look at me like that. I don't feel the least bit sorry for them, because if not for Dumbledore, with his brilliant idea of mental threads, and not for Scorpius Malfoy knowing every book in his mansion…"

He broke off, turned toward the staircase, and soon disappeared to the second floor. The sounds of his voice drifted downstairs – he seemed to be talking to Albus.

Hermione looked helplessly at Teddy, who answered with a sympathetic smile. Lupin could understand his godfather, but he couldn't tell whether he would have done the same if he were Harry, because he would have never found himself in Harry's place.

"All right, I am gonna go," Teddy got to his feet. "If you need my help…"

"Go, Teddy, you are here all the time as it is. From what Marie said, she is not too ecstatic about it," Hermione also stood up and collected the dishes from the table.

Lupin nodded and soon entered the fireplace, knowing that what waited for him at home was the beloved, if a little peeved, Marie. There, everything was a lot simpler, a lot calmer. There were no such problems, no doubts.

Lupin tossed the Floo powder in with a smile and soon vanished amidst green flames.


	80. Part IX - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Chapter 8. The Potters.**_

Lily woke up in the gloom of the hospital wing, due to the overcast sky she could glimpse through a crack in draperies. The screen around her bed was closed. Must be lunchtime.

The girl stretched, gingerly moving her arms. They were barely hurting anymore, thanks to the efforts of Scorpius' mother and Madam Pomfrey. Lily was supposed to stay in the hospital wing until as late as Monday, probably only at her worried father's insistence. Plus, Madam Pomfrey preferred to err on the side of giving extra observation to her patients…

The girl pulled herself higher onto the pillows. It was boring to lie like this, with no one to visit her. If only Scorpius would come. But she only saw him briefly when they were sent back to Hogwarts. Lily thought that he looked weary and somewhat cross, but she never got the chance to talk to him about it. It was James who told her what had really happened with her abduction and subsequent rescue.

Scorpius saved her. For the umpteenth time. There was a reason, after all, for him to have been haunting her dreams.

Lily smiled. It was so strange to think that only a couple of months ago she despised Malfoy. Despised? Yes, a little. For the past several years she had blamed the Slytherin for standing between her and her brother. Ever since she and James stopped crawling into the attic to share secrets.

And he also vexed her. With his constant nasty smile. With his hands in his pockets. With his imposing demeanor. With the air he projected as though the world was there solely for his pleasure. With his sarcasm and the jokes he always cracked.

And with his completely ignoring her. Oh, yes, Scorpius Malfoy always ignored her. He took Lily's place next to her brother and was quite happy with having done so. What would a haughty Slytherin want with a scrawny girl, and a red-head to boot? And Lily was furious about that because she always wanted to be the center of attention. Especially her brother's attention. And, since Malfoy was now a part of James' life, the Slytherin's attention as well.

She had never given those feelings a thought before. Until she saw Scorpius Malfoy in the doorway on her brother's birthday. For the first time she saw the Slytherin without a cloak and his favorite Slytherin-style smirk…

"Hello, Lily, may I come in?"

The girl started – Rose walked around the screen.

"Yes, hey, come in. I thought I was in for a day of lonely boredom…" Lily shifted on the bed to give her cousin room to sit.

"Well, I would think a little boredom won't hurt after all that's happened," Rose put the books she brought with her on the bedside table. "You can read those if things get too desperate around here."

"Rose, why are looking so sad?" Lily looked closely at her cousin. She felt a pang of conscience – she had barely given other people's problems any thought, overwhelmed as she was with her own. And yet, these days Rose and Hugo were suffering no less than the Potters were.

"This and that," Rose shrugged her shoulders, smiling slightly. "How are you feeling? I learned of your disappearance yesterday evening, but no one could say anything definite… I had to practically torture James. Lily, what is it with you two constantly trying to pretend that Hugo and I, and the other Weasleys have no stake in what happens to you?"

Lily was no longer feeling just the pangs of guilty conscience – now it was on full force.

"Even if you are Potters, we are still your family," Rose tucked away a lock of hair that fell across her face. "Before, you and I always used to hang out, chat, and now you pretend that you are all alone at Hogwarts, and Malfoy is the only one who cares about you…"

"Rose, forgive me," Lily reached out and stroked her cousin's shoulder. "I know it is a difficult time for you as well, what with your father…"

"It's not about Dad, Lily!" Rose softly shook her head. "It is about you and James! We are family, so why do you pretend that Hugo and I are merely your school mates? When you are feeling down, you go to Malfoy. When James is feeling down – he goes to the Slytherin girl. Is that how it should be?"

"Rose…"

"Just don't try to come up with excuses," Lily's cousin asked. "I simply want for you two to stop acting like tragic loners. We too, by the way, lost Aunt Ginny, and our father was bitten by a werewolf and left home!"

"Uncle Ron left?" Lily asked, frightened now, suddenly noticing that her cousin's eyes filled with tears. Rose merely nodded, hiding her face. My God, how could she have been so selfish – wrapped up in her grief, her pain, her happiness?! How could she have not been aware that Rose was suffering no less than her..?

"Oh, please, don't give me that guilty and commiserating look, Lily, that is not what I am here for," Rose was calm now, as though the moment when her eyes shone with tears never happened. How strong her cousin was…

Who did she go to when she was feeling down? Shitzko or Michael? Hardly, especially given that she and Michael had a row. Hugo – also unlikely. She didn't have any girlfriends and her other female cousins were too little or too air-headed…

"Lily, do you hear me?"

"Yes, yes, Rose," the other girl nodded, looking back at her cousin. "I didn't know that Uncle Ron left… Why?"

"He thinks that it is best for everyone," Rose shrugged her shoulders, looking away. "I wrote to Mum, maybe she can better explain it… I can't imagine what she must be feeling now…"

Lily squeezed her cousin's elbow to show her support. Rose. Was she really lonely? She couldn't be. It was always Lily who was the lonely one at school. Of course, she had multiple male and female cousins, but Lily was never very close to them. She had Hugo – a trusted friend and homework companion. But he had his own friends and his own circle. Quidditch. Quidditch. Girls.

And Lily somehow found herself all alone the very first year. Because she had hoped that she and James would be friends, like they had been at home; but he had no time to waste on his little sister. There were other First Year Gryffindor girls who started with Lily, and they formed their groups, while Lily was left out. She wasn't interested in boys because they were too different. Not like her brother.

But Rose was always there for her. She made time for Lily, even despite schoolwork and two friends of her own. Yet, still, Lily was by herself, on her own. She stopped tagging after her brother, knowing now that he didn't want anything to do with her at school.

She became resigned. Got used to it. She grew. She had Rose. She had Hugo. Not indispensable, but always there when needed. She had James, indispensable, but farther and farther away with each passing year.

She once made friends with a Ravenclaw girl. But it didn't last long; she was too used to being alone, too unaccustomed to gossiping with other girls. What for? If she wanted to, she had Rose or Charlotte. The fledgling friendship went sour.

She was getting older; she became interested in boys. Yet, she was too used to being on her own. Besides, she only had one standard to measure the boys up to – her beloved blockhead of a brother. And she waited for someone to come along and easily overcome her preferred solitude.

And then came her brother's birthday and the new image of Scorpius Malfoy. Still despised, but now not merely her brother's mate, but a lad. It was not her body alone that has changed over the summer then. She became more mature, more attentive.

"Lily, what are you thinking?" Rose caught the lost look on her cousin's face. "Just don't tell me it's Malfoy…"

Lily shook her head:

"I was thinking that I behaved very badly towards you. You were always there for me, and now I simply fenced myself off from you…"

"It is alright, I understand," Rose smiled, a little sadly. "It will get better, you'll see."

"Get better? You think so? I cannot imagine how we will live… without Mum. And you – without Uncle Ron…" Lily sighed heavily. Her infatuation with Scorpius briefly pushed these uneasy thoughts to the back of her mind. And Rose must have been thinking about it all along.

"Somehow, it will all sort itself out, I am certain. I hope that Dad will come back after all. If the only reason he left was that he was afraid to harm us, he will," Lily cousin said with confidence. Both of them were silent, for the first time, perhaps, having talked about what bothered them both.

"How is it between you and Michael?"

Rose smiled:

"Oh, I don't know. He is either jealous toward every light pole or apologizes for being such a dolt. He really behaves like one, but he is Michael…" she smiled fondly, smoothing the blanket over Lily's feet. "I think it will all work out… He is frustrated because I have a lot of extra studying to do and we don't get much time to be together… And how are you and Malfoy? Do you think that you'll be able to tame him?"

"You think I won't be?" Lily peered nervously at her cousin.

"I don't know. I never thought that a man like Malfoy could become interested in a girl like you… I don't mean that you are not interesting… No. But you are too…different… You come from disparate worlds."

"James and Scorpius came from disparate worlds as well!" Lily said, a little miffed.

"Yes, but they are made from the same mold. Two thoughtless boys, ever engrossed in devising yet another mischief. And you… you are too vulnerable, too impressionable, too… different…"

"Rose, what is it that you are saying?" Lily asked warily. It suddenly occurred to her that they were now getting to the real reason for Rose's visit.

"Only that you shouldn't get carried away in your relationship with Malfoy… Romance, posters, holding hands – it is all great and, I am sure, works very effectively on you, but Lily, don't forget, he is Malfoy, he is seventeen… He knows how to get from you what he wants to get… Are you sure that you know what that really is?"

Lily was breathing heavily. She felt as though Rose's words were slowly breaking down the pink-coloured world that Scorpius Malfoy had created within her.

"Rose, you don't know him; he is not what he appears to be…"

"So, you think that you know him, don't you?" the other girl got up from the bed. "I am worried about you, Lily. Malfoy is a cruel man, no matter how you and James try to whitewash him. James may actually know it, and simply take it for granted. And the two of you actually change around him! Become more careless, more selfish. Become different… James – fine, he gets over it in no time. But you, Lil… you are so naïve and kind… He may crush you, your heart, your world… Are you really ready to deal with it?"

"Why are you saying this to me?" Rose's words were making Lily angry now.

"So that you would watch out. I don't want you to get hurt again."

"You know something, don't you?" Lily asked suspiciously, barely able to control her voice.

"Priscilla and Fritz Zabini were tortured with Cruciatus Curse last night; they are both in the hospital…"

"How do you know that?!"

"The house-elves were talking about it in the kitchen," Rose was looking Lily straight in the eyes.

"What does it have to do with Malfoy and me?"

"Because Malfoys never forgive any harm done to their property," Rose remarked. "And, judging by what James was saying about the Malfoy Manor…"

"It is a secret…"

"I am not going to tell anyone. Anyway, Lily, be careful. If you have decided to fall head over heels in love with him, so be it, but be prepared to see not only his romantic gestures, but his dark side as well… Because Sorting Hat never makes mistakes, and it sent him to Slytherin."

"Rose, I think you are being overly dramatic…"

"Maybe… I would have liked to be proven wrong."

Lily didn't say anything because she didn't want to think about what Rose had said.

"Forgive me."

Rose walked out of the room, leaving Lily in turmoil. Why did she come? Why did she say all that? Why?! Rose was simply being overcautious – she never understood James or Scorpius properly.

Lily curled up into a ball, squeezed her eyes shut, trying to return to the silver tranquility of the forest, but her cousin's words kept ringing in her head. Especially about the Zabinis… And about Malfoys' property that they made sure to protect.

"I shall not think about it. I shan't! I shan't!

Yet, she couldn't help but remember his words in the forest as he took her in his arms. "My Lily." Mine.

**I received several reviews that bash Rose for interfering. I am not the author, but as someone who has to some degree lived inside the characters' heads for a while (or, rather, allowed them to live in mine), I would like to say that Rose is spot on in her assessment of Scorpius.**

**He IS a very mature 17-year-old with a lot more worldly experience than Lily (and quite an extensive "biblical" experience with girls, I might add). There is big maturity difference - and I speak from experience - between a 15-year-old virgin girl who has been sheltered and cherished all her life and a 17-year-old man with a emotionally troubled (and even abusive) background and the history of using both his charm and wit to attain his goals, with little regard for others.**

**Next, he is a Malfoy - and I am not displaying prejudice, but pointing out that one of the main principles of that family is manipulating others, that's how they operate.**

**Given that, Lily needed a dose of reality, because if you love someone, you have to know them as they are, not just the best of them, right? Her social and emotional experience is completely orthogonal to Scorpius', which is both dangerous, because she cannot understand him by projecting her own emotions and thoughts onto him, and a saving grace - because she can see the changes in him and not make the same assumptions about him that his circle does. Plus, he IS getting large doses of Lily - which seems to accelerate the changes that have already been fermenting in him.**

**Finally, Rose did what family is supposed to do - speak their mind and then let you know that they are there for you even when they disagree with your choices. Sounds like a good cousin AND a good friend to me!**


	81. Part X - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**Part Ten. Celtic Net***

*in Celtic mythology the web signified the net that holds the world together and keeps it from falling apart

_**Chapter 1. James Potter.**_

"Hey, did you get why they were also checking our heads?" Scorpius fumed as he and James were leaving the hospital wing. The Slytherin meticulously patted his hair into place as they walked down the hall to their Charms class. The two friends were not in a hurry, however.

"Father said that the Auror who was the mole had been bitten on the head and no one thought to check under his hair," James fastened the last hook on his robes. "Can you imagine what it must have been like when they were checking the girls? Messed up all their hairdos, I wager…"

Scorpius merely hemmed; he has not been saying much ever since his latest visit to his hearth and home. James chalked it all off to the conversation that must have taken place between the Slytherin and his father.

"Can you imagine what it will be like here now? The Hogsmead trip has been cancelled; the grounds are crawling with Aurors; the gates are guarded so heavily they might have as well posted a dragon there; Filch's ashuffling down the hallways at night… Come to think of it, when does he get to catch some z's, during the day?

"Potter, have you contracted verbal diarrhea?" Malfoy stopped at the door to the Charms classroom.

"If only from you," the Gryffindor replied, also in no hurry to go to class. All other students had been checked for werewolf bites first thing in the morning, but the two friends slept through most of the day after their adventures, and the teachers let them.

"If only you adopted something actually worth copying from me," Malfoy looked at his friend derisively. "Like manners…"

"So that I can be called a pretentious peacock?"

"Who called me that?"

"Someone did," James said dismissively, grinning.

"Let me guess! Must have been Weasley; it is just like her, with her "my books and I are the only things that matter in this world" style," the Slytherin mimicked Rose. "Whatever, let's go, the bell is in ten minutes, and it is just the right time to put in an appearance…"

James nodded, and they entered the classroom buzzing with the Seventh Years practicing their spells. Oddly, even though the spells were all supposed to be non-verbal at this point, the class was still humming with voices, and Flitwick didn't seem to mind that at all, at least judging by the kindly demeanor with which he strolled up and down the aisles.

"Come on in, boys; you will still have time to practice," the Professor squeaked. James and Scorpius sat at their desk and even pretended to do something with their wands.

"Hey, Potter, did you see this?" Richard Gruff, a Gryffindor, turned towards them and surreptitiously passed James the latest "Daily Prophet".

Scorpius and James leaned over the newspaper, the latter with some trepidation. Did his father break his word, and Malfoy's name was mentioned? The Slytherin sighed with relief next to him – the thought must have crossed his mind also.

But no, the front page had the Minister of Magic announcing the "great threat hanging over the wizarding society." The article talked rather generally about a pack of werewolves who were roaming around, with a propensity to transform at will, biting and subjugating wizards. Following that were long listings of safety precautions, descriptions of the known malefactors, et cetera, et cetera.

"Hey, Potter, look, reporters do get it right occasionally…" Malfoy pointed at the article on page two of "The Daily Prophet" titled "The Boy Who Lived is a target again: the truth about the death of Genevra Potter".

"Damn," James hissed, looking at the about two-year-old picture of his own family. "Poor Father…"

The article contained a fair number of true facts – about his mother's death, about Uncle Ron's being bitten, about the Potters being hunted by werewolves. In a fit of temper, James crumpled up the paper and turned it into a feather.

"Wonderful, Mr. Potter," Flitwick squealed in delight right next to him, making both chaps jump. "Still, you are in the Charms class, not in Transfiguration. Therefore, try to focus on the task at hand, if you will…"

James waited for the professor to walk away before grumbling:

"I would have focused, had I known what the task was!"

Malfoy, meanwhile, was shredding the scroll of parchment before him.

"What did the newspaper do to you?" the Gryffindor inquired derisively, looking at this friend. "Vexed that it does not announce you being awarded the Order of Merlin for saving someone from drowning?"

"No, just sorry that it cannot be used to shut you up," the Slytherin answered, clearly in bad humour. "Sometimes I have to drag words out of you, and today just has to be the day that you are chattering non-stop and torturing me with your dubious sense of humour."

"I can't understand you, Malfoy; one moment you don't like the quiet and in another – you can't stand anyone speak near you," James began putting his things away into his bag. "Doing something heroic clearly rubs you the wrong way."

"It is you who rubs me the wrong way, Potter, and has been, for quite a number of years, too," Malfoy reminded the Gryffindor, getting up as the bell rang.

"That is debatable, as to who affects whom," James grunted. They left the classroom and walked slowly towards the dungeons for their Potions class. "How is Xenia; have you seen her?"

Xenia had been allowed to skip class attendance on Monday because she was feeling very tired after sustaining the mental thread between James and herself while they tried to find Lily.

"Sorry, but I cannot get into the girls' bedroom; I left my wings at home," Malfoy's eyes were on the girls from Ravenclaw who giggled as they glanced at the two friends. Merlin, when will there be normal girls, without all this giggling and whispering? Take Xenia, for instance – she laughs when she finds something amusing. No silly giggling and making eyes. "But I am sure that if you send a thought her way, she'll respond… That is, if she is not asleep."

"Malfoy, envy in silence!" they descended the stairs and stopped just short of the other students waiting for Professor Slughorn to open the classroom. "It is not my fault that you were not given such an excellent chance…"

"A chance to dig around your brains?" Scorpius retorted with mock horror. "No, thank you; just one peek would be enough for me to earn a closed room at St. Mungo's. "Either that or I would have been shocked by the silence and emptiness inside…"

"Malfoy, if you push any further, Lily will have to visit you in the hospital wing for a week," threatened the Gryffindor. "By the way, have you seen her?"

"At breakfast, just like you did," Malfoy shrugged his shoulders, leaning against the wall.

"Did she seem strange to you?"

"Potter, I wonder what you would have looked like if you had been abducted, forced to drink some rotten potion, locked in a basement and placed on the dinner menu," Scorpius grinned. James wasn't comforted, however.

"Did you visit her in the hospital wing yesterday?"

"I was going to, but Weasley was there and they were in such an engaging conversation that I didn't want to interrupt," Malfoy shrugged again.

"And what were they talking about? Classes? Books? Williams?" James was curious.

"About me," Malfoy replied indifferently and walked toward the now opened the door to the Potions classroom. James stood still for a moment and then rushed after the rest of his classmates.

"And what good did you hear about yourself? How wonderful and magical you are? How much Lily loves you?" the Gryffindor chuckled, setting his cauldron next to Malfoy's.

"No," the other said, turning away to get his textbook, "I discovered that our Weasley is oh so astute and strategically minded…"

"Meaning?" James asked, perplexed.

"Quite literally. She even opened my own eyes as to my true nature," Scorpius took out the potion ingredients from his bag and began laying them out on the desk. "Potter, you'd best closed you mouth or whatever brains you have left will escape, sensing additional room to maneuver…"

James shrugged his shoulders, deciding that prodding the Slytherin any further was pointless, if he had decided not to say any more.

What could have Rose said? Last night, she wouldn't let him sleep for half the night, forcing every detail of Lily's kidnapping and rescue out of him; then she lectured him on "stop pretending that you are Potters only and the Weasleys don't care about you". His cousin must be having a hormonal imbalance or else she was looking to redirect her energy elsewhere after her quarrel with Williams.

The Potions class went on at usual. Scorpius managed everything almost perfectly, which brought the Slytherin house ten points, while James' cauldron melted, spitting its contents onto Emma Thomas' robes. As far as James could remember, the poor girl always got the brunt of all mishaps, especially those befalling James and his friend. Was that the reason for her refusing to be his date at the Yuletide Ball?

Slughorn, with his typical mellowness (he and Flitwick would have made a perfect pair, had not one of them been so tiny and the other – so portly) dismissed the incident, removing the splatters of James' potion with a wave of his wand.

They came down to dinner in good mood – there were no more classes today, and their homework load was not heavy enough to warrant a trip to the library. James immediately spotted Xenia in the Big Hall and waved at her. She looked rested, and her cheeks now had some colour. He never imagined that his thoughts could be so… taxing. As far as he was aware, his thoughts had been pretty happy.

On the other hand, James thought as he settled at the table next to Charlotte who, along with her girlfriend, was looking at some magazine, Xenia detested getting into other people's brains altogether. He still remembered how upset she was when she had to get into Lily's head. It was why the Gryffindor doubly, if not thrice, appreciated what this girl he loved had done for him. She became his guardian angel, and not only for his soul, but now his body as well.

"Hello, Lil," he looked up at his sister as she sat down across from him, tossing her bag on the floor by the bench. When she reached for a serving platter, the sleeves of her robe hitched up, exposing her bandaged arms, which reminded James of the recent events. "How are you?"

"Fine," she shrugged her shoulders. Damn, but Xenia was right: all of his sister's emotions showed plainly on her face. Now she was plainly upset about something and tried not to show it.

"You could've fooled me. Did Rose overwhelm you with her intellect yesterday?"

Lily started and glanced a little harrassedly at the Slytherin table. Now this is getting even more interesting.

"Don't you want to talk to Malfoy? By the way, he happened to save your life," James pulled a platter with chicken toward him, practically ripping it out of Michael Williams' hands. Casting him a cute smile, James turned his attention back to his sister.

"I have thanked him already, the day before yesterday," she picked reluctantly at her food.

"Hmm, and?" James was liking this less and less.

"And nothing. Jim, stop meddling in my personal life, enough already," Lily asked, beginning to get angry. The other merely shrugged his shoulders: it appeared that his sister was beginning to get back to being her normal, feisty, self. James couldn't decide whether that was a good thing, but at least Lily stopped being so listless and indifferent to everything that had used to make her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. Like scolding James, hover over the Gryffindor shorties, do her homework till the wee hours of the morning, perusing thick tomes in the library, discuss boys…

Well, if neither Lily nor Scorpius wanted to tell him anything, let them sort it out themselves. Yet, if the Slytherin were to attempt to dump Lily, he was a dead man. Because James would bury him in Hagrid's pumpkin patch – alive. Regardless of the fact that Scorpius had saved Lily's life on several occasions.

"Well, fir hedgehog, what are we going to do now?" Scorpius sat down next to James – now that Lily had gone. James was beginning to get seriously angry.

"Maybe we should go and have a chat about what exactly is going on between you and my sister?" the Gryffindor snapped, his interest towards the toast completely gone now.

"Again?" Malfoy got to his feet. "Still haven't calmed down, have you? Better go and talk to your own girlfriend; she has earned it, I dare say. And leave me alone. I have no intention of discussing my personal life with you."

The Slytherin turned on his heels and strolled away, in his best impression of the Lord of the Malfoy Manor.

James was now completely confused and, therefore, he got to his feet and followed his friend's advice – walked over to Xenia who was just getting up from the table.

"In a hurry?"

She shook her head, smiling slightly:

"Let's take a walk," she took his hand and the two of them walked outside.

It was a rather gloomy October day. In the distance, next to Hagrid's house a group of students gathered – James thought he glimpsed two redheads among them. Must be some Weasleys at the Care of Magical Creatures class.

"Listen, you linked yourself with me mentally; and you were in cahoots with this Mancilli; and with Dumbledore… Are you up to something?"

"Meaning?"

"Just what I said. As far as I know, Dumbledore spent the last years of his life scheming and weaving his web, either protecting my father or using him. And now you and this Mancilli," James looked suspiciously at his girlfriend.

"You are quite well-informed," she smiled, also looking at the students by the Forbidden Forest.

"So, will you tell me? Or is it a secret between you, Mancilli, and the Dumbledore's portrait?"

Xenia merely smiled again, but then answered:

"It is Dumbledore's secret and, maybe, Theodic's; I simply agreed to help you and your family. I hope, you don't mind…"

"Has anyone asked me?" James feigned displeasure, hugging the girl close. "Fine, I'll pretend that it does not bother me at all that you and this goblin have common secrets…"

"James, don't speak like that of Theo," Xenia asked. They sat on their favorite bench. "Because he is an unhappy man."

"How can you tell? Not by the look of him…"

"Because he is. He is alone. He lives in his own world – the world of Legilemency. And he denies that he has a soul, he simply ignores it," she was staring at the trail at her feet, her hands tucked under her.

"Do you know him that well?" the Gryffindor inquired, a little jealously, putting his arms around her and pulling her close.

"I was his student," she shrugged her shoulders, and then looked up at him. "Emotions should not be considered a weakness. Even affection. He thinks it a vulnerability. I don't know why. He never allowed even touching his soul. He has simply destroyed it…"

"Is it okay for you to tell me?" James asked cautiously. "Well, the Healer-patient confidentiality and all that…"

"I wasn't his Healer – just a student. It is just that I see how you are clenching your fists when you look at him. Jim, he is to be pitied…"

"I shall not pity him. Strong people are not to be pitied," the Gryffindor said, and Xenia smiled.

"You sound like Scorpius…"

"Well, we have been each other's eyesores for the past five years, after all… Xenie, have you heard about what happened to the Zabinis? That they have been taken to the hospital…"

"Yes, I have heard. I even saw them…" she grew very sad.

"You did?"

"Yes. Madam Pomfrey was at the Malfoy Manor at the time, and so Theo and I did first-aid treatment…"

"It is true then? That they tortured one another with the Cruciatus Curse?"

"No. Because neither of them had a wand," she spoke very quietly.

"Wow… Then how…? Do you feel sorry for them?"

"Yes," she sat up straight and turned to him. "Because people must not deliberately cause each other pain and suffering. Out of revenge, out of malice. It isn't right."

"Revenge? You think that it was Mal…"

"I know that it was him," she smiled sadly. "And it is terrible. You know, it shouldn't be like that… It is not right to respond to pain with pain. To malice with malice. It damages, it burns the person from the inside out."

She was silent for a moment, as though remembering what she saw when summoned to the room where the Zabinis were held. Then she spoke again:

"Taking revenge or allowing it to be taken, feeling satisfaction from it, even if you weren't the one who did it, weren't the one holding the wand – it is also horrible… And if the person in question did not have that in his or her soul originally, then it is even more horrible, because that cruelty was forced on him, immersing him in that hatred, in that malice…"

"Who are you talking about? Malfoy?"

Xenia shook her head, looking sadly at James:

"No, not about Malfoy. His soul has both light and darkness in it. Therefore, what he did to Zabinis will not damage him any… Hardly any," she corrected herself. "It is not good, but that is how his soul is."

"About whom then?"

"About you father. About Harry Potter."


	82. Part X - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

**Well, this is the chapter that started me on this journey, I was so touched by it. I hope I did it justice. Enjoy! Any comments are appreciated.**

_**Chapter 2. Lily Potter**_

She sat in class and tried to patiently listen to Professor Vector, who was telling them about the new magical formulas and their components. Other students took careful notes, but writing was still painful for Lily, so she simply propped her head with her fist and watched her favorite professor.

Her thoughts were wandering far from Arithmancy, but she was not ashamed of it at all. For once, working through her snarled thoughts and feelings took precedence over her studies.

And indeed, her vision became clearer with each passing minute. The blindfold of infatuation fell from her eyes and she saw the world as it had become in the last month and a half. It had been as though Malfoy insulated her from the outside world with his tender care and hid her within his embrace from everything that was going on. However, this could not last, because the world around her really _had_ changed. _Her_ world had changed. And Rose's words ripped that blindfold off Lily's eyes. Was it the right thing to do? It probably was.

Was it cruel? Yes. But at least Lily now realised all that had happened. Momma. She was gone, and Lily was painfully aware that everything in their life was now different. The empty house. The letters that now came only from her father. Her lonely father. Her miserable father. All of them miserable, because her mother was gone. And they had yet to return to that empty house where their mother used to be, but was no more.

Her father. Once again he lost a loved one. Both Father and Albus. Now they are learning to live anew. It is easier for her and James because they are at Hogwarts. Outside, in the big world, everything feels sharper, more painful.

Uncle Ron. A werewolf. Lonely and probably no less miserable than her father. He has lost his sister; and himself. And now he has lost his family as well. Because he walked away from them.

Hermione. Rose. Hugh. Orphaned. Sad for Uncle Ron and sad over his leaving. Lily hoped that he would come back. Because, otherwise, there would be two families destroyed.

Danger. Constant, continuous danger. Father spoke of it, Hermione, McGonagall. Newspapers were screaming about it. The Aurors posted on school grounds were testimony to it. So was the cancellation of trips to Hogsmead. The censorship of mail and parcels. Constant wariness. Anticipation of a new attack. Pain in her arms. Memories of the darkness.

Scorpius Malfoy. Here all her reason and logic ended, replaced by a thousand and one feelings and emotions. And one question: was Rose correct? Was Lily in love with the imagined person and not the real Malfoy?

It would be easier to answer this question, should Scorpius not be suddenly avoiding her. What could she think? That Rose was right. He got what he wanted and he was satisfied. Yet, Lily could not believe it. She would get to the bottom of this. As soon as she could talk it out. With Rose. And with Malfoy.

It was too early to panic. She did it once – regarding Scorpius' engagement. Maybe it was just as unnecessary now as it had been then. She wanted to believe this, as did her fluttering heart.

She hasn't had a chance to talk with the Slytherin – they never crossed paths at lunch, and then Lily had the prefect meeting, where they were called to vigilance, caution, and other such things. After the meeting, Lily inquired McGonagall after the Zabinis and whether anyone ever figured out who was involved in the torture. The Headmistress merely shook her head and advised Lily not to think about it.

She couldn't help it though. She tried not to think about the Zabinis themselves, so that she wouldn't have to decide how she felt about their suffering. She simply shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind. She had enough to worry about without them. The Zabinis were simply an extension of her thoughts about Scorpius.

Lily returned to the Gryffindor common room and sat by the fireplace, waiting for Rose. She took out her textbooks and even started writing her Herbology paper. She was constantly distracted by her cousins; Hugh came over for help with his Potions homework. James dragged his feet in around eleven o'clock, waved goodnight to his sister and went to bed. Rose came around midnight – apparently, the prefects were patrolling the hallways. The common room was empty; only Lily was reading by the fireplace, Duster snug in her lap.

"Why are you not sleeping?" Rose sat down in the chair opposite her cousin, and began braiding her hair. She always did that in the evening.

"I wanted to talk to you…" Lily put aside her book and gently nudged the cat off her lap. Duster hissed discontentedly and went to seek a quieter place to sleep.

"Oh, yeah," her cousin smiled a little guiltily. "I am sorry that I jumped down your throat like that yesterday. I probably shouldn't have meddled…"

"You should have. I understand that you are concerned and want the best for me," Lily got down on her knees beside Rose's chair and smiled up at her cousin. "How are you doing?"

"I am just very tired," the Head Girl reached out and stroked Lily hair as if she was still a little girl. "I am tired of being myself…"

"It seems to me that being Rose Weasley is not so bad."

"You know, sometimes I wake up in the morning and I don't want to be me, can you imagine that? I don't want to be a grown-up, don't want to be smart and reasonable… Sometimes I just want to be… Lily Potter…"

"Me? Trust me, it is not so great…"

"You have an older brother, a dunce though he may be, who would kill his best friend for you," Rose smiled softly, looking at the fire. "You have a father who deals with everything and everyone himself, is always up to a challenge, and never runs away – not from himself, not from others, and, most definitely, not from his family. Finally, you have Malfoy… who, for reasons known only to him, is shielding you from the troubles and the pain of the larger world…"

"You have your Mum…" Lily said sadly. "And Hugo."

"Mum, poor Mum," Rose looked away from the fire. "I cannot even imagine how she handles all this. I received a letter from her – she promises to visit this weekend to talk with Hugo and I. About Dad. It must be so hard for her. And there is also Uncle Harry, whom she will always support; and work, and Grandpa Weasley; and Hugo and me; and you know my darling brother – he is just as helpless as Dad. A true Weasley…"

"You have Michael and Shitzko, they love you very much," Lily was trying to remind her cousin about the positive things in her life.

"Yes, Michael," Rose snorted, "we do not really understand each other well lately. The childhood friendship has ended, and teenage friendship just does not seem to pen out. With Shitzko, everything is clear – he is just a good friend, always ready to help, but Michael… I don't know. Besides, I cannot speak with them like I do with you. They are boys…"

"Rose, I never knew that you could be that…"

"No, Lily, I am fine, truly," the other girl forced out a smile, looking at her cousin. "I am just very tired…"

"You have a lot of class work, plus being Head Girl. And all our cousins who need looking after…"

"Oh, yes," Rose chuckled. "Caitlin shirked the Defense today to look at the salamanders that Hagrid brought… Shelly almost got into a fight with a classmate because of a boy. The twins, Merlin, they have just gone barking mad. It's Uncle George's influence… Their fireworks almost beheaded Mr. Filch… And your brother! He is one continuous headache. I have no idea how he is going to pass his N.E.W.T.s…"

"He will, you know him… We thought that he wouldn't get a single O.W.L., but he passed all of it, even the History of Magic!" Lily got up.

"You wanted to talk about something," Rose reminded, looking at her cousin. "Forgive me; I unloaded my problems on you… It's just that I don't have anyone to talk to."

"It's all right. I… wanted to tell you that you are wrong about Malfoy. I am sure that he has more light inside him…"

"I would like to believe it…" Rose also stood up. "If you think that, then you probably should fight for it… Even if the skeptics like me tell you otherwise."

The girls began ascending the stairs to their rooms.

"Oh, Rose, rumor has it that you are studying Legilemency with Healer Mancilli…"

"Yes," the other girl turned toward her cousin.

"And how is it? Difficult?"

"It's interesting. It's the Healer himself who is…" Rose rubbed her forehead, as she always did when she was uncertain or encountered something that she did not yet understand. "Closed off somehow… Like a snail in his shell."

"A snail?" Lily chuckled as she imagined the man they were speaking about as a snail.

"Well, something like that," her cousin grinned. "All right, good night to you. And thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Lily walked into her room and sat down on the bed. No, she would not sleep, because, while talking to Rose, she made her choice. She had to speak to Malfoy. Right away.

Lily ran out of the room and quickly tiptoed into the Seventh Years' bedroom. All of them were fast asleep. Lily quietly walked over to her brother's bed and tugged at him lightly.

"Huh? Who's…? Lil?" he fumbled, staring sleepily at his sister.

"Shhh. Don't yell," she whispered close to his face.

"Somethin' happened?"

"No. Listen, do you know the Slytherin password?"

"What?!"

"Stop yelling. I need to talk to Malfoy. It's urgent."

"Can't wait till morning?" James grinned, rubbing his eyes. "Didn't you have enough time during the day?"

"Jim, do you know it or not?"

"What if I do? It doesn't mean that I will tell it to my fifteen-year-old sister, who wants to wander around the school at half past midnight, especially for the purpose of visiting the common room of a hostile House to meet with a guy…"

"James, please! I really need this…" She looked at her brother pleadingly. "Otherwise, I won't be able to sleep, and it will all be your fault."

"That's unfair", snorted James. "'Mudbloods not allowed.' Take the Invisibility Cloak…" he took it out of his bedside stand. "Just keep in mind, it only works for about twenty minutes, so try to get back quickly, okay?"

"Thank you, you are the best brother", she kissed his cheek and hurried away.

The hallways were dark and empty. She hurried along as fast as the Zonko's cloak allowed. Lily tried not to think that she had gone crazy and how rash her actions were. She simply headed for the dungeons.

The wall parted when she called out the password. She took off the cloak and entered the common room. She immediately realized how stupid that was. There were four Slytherins in the room. Two girls in the corner were bent over their books. A boy was writing at the desk, his back to the entrance. And a Seventh Year lay on the couch by the fireplace.

All four turned and stared at the visitor – some alarmed, some confused, some with open disdain.

"Well, look who is here", the Seventh Year rose from the couch, playing with the wand in his hand and ogling Lily from head to toe. The girl's eyes narrowed, but she wasn't going to back down. And to hell with the consequences.

"Please call Malfoy."

"What are we, house elves? What the hell are you doing here at all, Potter?" He was clearly enjoying himself and the look on his face did not bode well.

"Leave her alone."

Thanks to Merlin, it was Greg Gregory sitting at the desk. He stood up and looked from Lily to the Seventh Year.

"Oh, come on, Gregory, she came here of her own accord… Nobody forced her…"

Lily took out her wand before that jerk waved his. The girl disarmed the Slytherin, while realizing that she was practically trapped, as the girls by the window got to their feet and also raised their wands.

"Wow, look who we have here..."

Everyone started – at the foot of the stairs, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, stood Malfoy. He was dressed in slacks and uniform shirt. Apparently, he hadn't been sleeping either. Lily felt the wave of relief sweeping over her.

"Scorpius, I need to talk to you", she stated, looking directly at the Slytherin.

"Oh, I figured that; otherwise, why would a Gryffindor break into the Slytherin common room?" Malfoy walked lazily to the middle of the room. "Can we ask everyone to take their leave?" He raised a silvery eyebrow, looking at the other Slytherins. "Sorry, guys. Just five minutes…"

The girls went to the stairs at once, glancing at each other and giving Lily evil looks. Greg smiled at her slightly and also went to his bedroom. Only Scorpius' classmate remained standing.

"Give him his wand, Potter," asked Malfoy, pointing to the two wands in Lily's hand. She tossed the wand to the Slytherin, who narrowed his eyes maliciously and also departed. All became quiet.

Scorpius was looking down disinterestedly at his shining shoes.

"So, what is the matter now? Anyone needs rescuing again? Protecting? Resuscitating? Sorry, Potter, I have exhausted my quota for the month…"

"I wanted to talk…" she put away her wand. "Scorpius…"

"Wait, stop", he directed an icy look at her. "I will make it easier for you and save you the talking. I heard your fascinating conversation with Weasley, so come right to the point…"

"You eavesdropped." Lily stated calmly, crossing her arms, like Malfoy.

"Of course, I am a Malfoy", the Slytherin replied scaldingly. "What else did you expect?"

"Scorpius…"

"What I am thinking, Potter, is how is it that you weren't afraid to come here? Or is Weasley shadowing you? What if I…"

"Malfoy, let me speak", Lily asked, frowning slightly.

"Oh, one more thing", he grinned nastily, "About my property… I will sign the deed over to whoever you tell me to."

Lily took two steps – and, calmly and deliberately, punched him in the face. The strike echoed around the empty common room.

And then a hurricane swept her off her feet. Scorpius grabbed her and pinned her to the wall, painfully squeezing her bandaged arms. His eyes blazed furiously, his nostrils flared.

"Scared, eh? That's right, you should be", he hissed in her face. She was pressed against the wall, wincing a little with pain. "I am a Malfoy, I am a Slytherin. I can do anything… What was it that your know-it-all cousin suggested? Rape? Beat up? Torture with Cruciatus? Humiliate?"

Lily should have been scared, but she wasn't. Because she realised what mattered most – that she loved him; even his fury, even these cruel words. He was cruel to others; but never more so than to himself.

Instead of delivering a rebuke, a new slap, instead of wrenching out of his grip, she softly touched his chin, still a little hot from her strike, with her lips. He flinched, let go of her abruptly, and hastily stepped back, putting a safe distance between them.

"Scorpius, just tell me one thing – why? Why did you do it… to the Zabinis?" She tried to speak firmly.

"Well, it is in my nature, remember?" He grinned harshly, turning towards her. "Weasley…"

"Oh, leave Rose alone, for God's sake!" exclaimed Lily, closing the distance between them a little. "Tell me, why?"

"Malfoys don't bother with excuses."

"I am not asking for excuses from you. I just need to know the reason…"

He silently watched her come closer, raising her head to look into his eyes.

"Scorpius, tell me the real reason," she whispered, standing almost flush up against him. "Was it for me? Were you avenging me?"

"And if so, won't that change nothing?" he took a step back.

"Yes, it will change nothing," she agreed. "You will still remain cruel and vengeful… But I still love you…"

"No," he put out his hand, as if trying to shield himself from her words. "You fell in love with an illusion, an image that you conjured."

Lily shook her head, took out her wand and immediately whispered: "Silencio."

Malfoy's eyes bulged – no one must have dared to do that to him before. He reached for his wand, but Lily simply pushed him onto the couch. Caught off guard, he fell on it, almost breaking his hand.

"Finìte", Lily stood over him with a smile on her face, her wand pressed against his chest.

"Potter, have you gone mad?" he growled, trying to get to his back pocket where he kept his wand. However, as soon as he moved, her weapon pressed harder into his chest.

"I know that you can easily disarm me, but, please, hear me out." Lily put away her wand, never taking her eyes off him. "You were never a Prince Charming, don't flatter yourself. You were always a slimy Slytherin, who caused my family only grief, because it was by your doing that James became so unmanageable…"

"Oh, don't put it over on me", Malfoy asked, folding his arms and settling more comfortably on the couch. "And, please, sit down, because Malfoys cannot sit when a lady is standing, even if she is a Gryffindor."

"Well, deal with it", she smiled. "So, in my eyes you were never perfect. Therefore, I simply couldn't have fallen in love with an image. I saw you, year after year, with all your stupid mannerisms, pranks, and jokes… I always knew that you could be cruel. I knew that your ways and means of attaining your goals are very different from mine and that sometimes they are quite monstrous… I even experienced them myself once – you Imperioused me without a moment's thought. I saw how you stuffed a Hufflepuff Second Year into a suite of armor just because you were in a bad mood…"

"Even I don't remember this," snorted Malfoy.

"… so don't tell me who I am in love with and what I know and don't know… I know enough to see you as you are… Yes, even a couple of weeks ago I would have hated you for what you did to the Zabinis… But now I am not sure what to think about it…"

He rose abruptly, staring down at her. She didn't back away, but raised her head higher.

"You were everything to me during the past few weeks. If not for you, I don't know how I would have survived all this… you always showed up in time to save me. You always took care of me… You shielded me from the fear and the danger… You never hurt me… on purpose… So why should I think you worse than you really are?"

He simply stood there and looked at her, but Lily saw his eyes thawing and the wrinkle on his pale forehead smoothing out.

"You were able to create a fairy tale. If you were so horrible, if you didn't have a light inside you, you would not have been able to conjure the silver forest. But you created it, because there is a place inside you for this forest," she whispered, reaching out and brushing the stray silver lock out of his eyes. "My father has always said that there is no absolute evil or absolute good. There are only crossroads. The main thing is what path the person takes. I know that you are following the right path, Scorpius Malfoy…"

How these words formed inside her, she did not know. Just from looking at him, breathing the same air, she knew that she was doing the right thing, that her every word came from her heart. She felt that she was more mature now, that she learned to understand the man who stood a step away from her. And if he wouldn't take that step to close the distance between them, then she would.

Without a word, Malfoy put his arms around her, hugged her to him, put his head on her shoulder. The quiet enveloped them, and Lily smiled into his neck, lightly touching his hair with her hands.

"Excuse the interruption", Xenia's voice said behind them, "but if Lily does not return at once, James will blast apart the Gryffindor tower, and half the castle along with it."

Scorpius smiled, pulling away, liquid silver lapping in his eyes.


	83. Part X - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

_**Chapter 3. Harry Potter.**_

What was the hardest part for Harry Potter these days? The nights.

During the day he almost felt alive.

He would eat breakfast with Albus, listening to him fantasise about catching the biggest dragon one day and training it to growl on que, with candy as reward.

Then he would get ready for work. He was used to doing it on his own now: pulling the cleanest and the least wrinkled shirt out of the pile, using magic to clean his pants, finding socks that he took off somewhere the night before, taking his wand and putting on his cloak and glasses.

He would then take Albus to Mr. Weasley's or wait for someone to show up at the house. Hermione's house. She usually left for work before him – she and Ron must be the early birds. Harry had never given it any thought before.

At work he would stop by his office first, put on the work robes, and get the updated status on his assignments. Then we would head for the Department of Mysteries, reading the reports on the way. He stopped reading the newspapers because their catchy headlines only caused dull pain. The reporters found yet another reason to beslobber Harry Potter's name, his past, his family, and himself.

At the Department of Mysteries he would go through an inspection that was now routine for all employees who worked in the special groups and departments. He sensed no panic here that was so typical to see elsewhere around the Ministry hallways. The panic that was akin to that in the days of Voldemort's resurrection. Nobody trusted anybody else; everyone was afraid to be the next victim. And everyone feared being next to Harry Potter because by now the entire wizarding world was aware that one of the werewolves' primary goals was to destroy Potter and his family. No one wanted to become the weapon or else an innocent bystander victim that happened to be caught between the warring parties. Harry didn't care much about any of that, because it didn't matter to those closest to him. His co-workers were only too happy to enter into the fray; and his family – they were simply his family. They accepted danger as part of their lives and additional security measures – as necessity.

After the inspection he would walk down the familiar hallways and pass through the familiar round-shaped rooms until he would find himself in the heart of the anti-werewolf operation. Comfortable rooms for every captive who has agreed to cooperate with the Ministry. Rooms, Healers, Aurors. The rooms were merely comfortable prison cells. And the captives knew it. Some humbly awaited what was to come, knowing that it was not likely to be anything wonderful. Others were gun-ho, eager to be of any help. Still others were simply living one day at a time, trying to get used to the new world order and to their new selves in it.

He talked to each person separately, trying to understand what was happening with them, and what to expect from them. From them – and, therefore, from those other ones as well.

Then he would go to the lowest level of the Department. To the real prison cells that held the werewolves-criminals. Not the victims, but their executioners. No attempts were even made to convert them. They were merely investigated. Harry was never present at those investigations. He would only stop by to see if there was anyone he knew among the captives. Any friends. Any relatives. Ron…

Then he would leave, because training the army of "good" werewolves was not part of his job.

He would go back to his office to take care of the paperwork, hear reports of those coming off duty, collect status, interrogate suspects. All that on the cases unrelated to the werewolves. For Harry Potter was no longer allowed to participate in the "locale" work on the werewolves case. And it was clear why that was. He wasn't allowed to be present at Zig's interrogation. He was prohibited to come to the part of St. Mungo that held those who were involved in his daughter's kidnapping.

Yet, he was not excluded altogether. Rather, he was the heart of the effort. Like in the good old days. He was never told anything he wasn't supposed to know. Add an old man in half-moon glasses, and Harry Potter would be ripe for a de ja vu. Yes, Dumbledore… That conversation still needed to happen, but right now Harry had neither the time or the energy for it.

He would spend most of his day in his office, and then repeat the trip downstairs, to the cells, to make sure that nothing has changed since morning. He ate at the Ministry cafeteria, usually alone, since few would volunteer to join him.

After dinner he would go back and work until ten o'clock in the evening, immersing himself in other people's problems, incidents, tragedies; losing himself in them to forget about his own for a brief while.

At ten, he would change his robe and go home to put Albus to bed, crash into his own bed, and drop off into troubled slumber.

A week went by. And on Friday evening he realised with horror that he wouldn't be going to work tomorrow. He could – but what would he do? Walk between the Auror's Office and the Department of Mysteries? And if he didn't go to work then he would have to spend the whole day alone with his thoughts. Of course, there was Albus, but one look at his son reminded Harry of Dumbledore and everything connected with him.

Harry was lying in bed, forcefully ruffling his hair, wet from the shower. All objects in the room seemed blurry.

Saturday. Another one. This time it would simply be a Saturday. In the broken and empty world. Without the past. Without pretense. Just a Saturday. He should feel relief. But he didn't.

Tattered walls of the Shrieking Shack. A bald, frightened little man. "You should have realised, if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter." "NO! I don't reckon my dad would've wanted them to become killers!"… Smooth walls and the golden fountain. The awful woman on the floor. "You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain – to enjoy it – righteous anger won't hurt me for long."… Dumbledore's study. The Headmaster in the Pensieve. "Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?"… The living room at _The Burrow_. The angry Lupin. "I won't blast people out of my way just because they're there. That's Voldemort's job."… The Room of Requirement, engulfed in flames. Malfoy's hand reaching out to him. "IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I'LL KILL YOU, HARRY!"… The dark gorge. A werewolf charging him. "Chief! Why are you just standing there?! Avada Kedavra!"…

A room at Hogwarts. A boy and a girl covered in blood, their eyes full of terror. "Someone forced him to batter her and then tortured the boy with Criciatus". And the pain – the old pain. A cemetery. Dead Cedric. And the pain – horrible, incinerating, nauseating, the guts-on-fire, head-splitting pain… And the red eyes… And the green flash… And Lupin's grave and him screaming over it…

"Harry, Harry!" someone was shaking his shoulder, pulling him out of dream that has been repeating for five nights now. He heard his own scream, still sounding in the dark room, and felt tears on his cheeks. And someone's arms, embracing him tenderly, soothingly stroking his hair.

No one was ever able to pull him out of his dreams, his recurring nightmares. They hadn't happened for so long now. And here they were – caring hands shielding him from the nightmare. It had never happened before in his life. There were no hands that could have pulled Harry Potter from the terrible dreams that had been torturing him for so many long years.

He cried, burying his face in the warm shoulder. Her soothing warmth. Her voice.

"Harry, everything is alright. The past is gone, do you hear? The past is no more. You are free from it, you have been free for a long time," she whispered, pressing his trembling body to her. "The past is gone. It will go and leave you behind. But you yourself have to let it go… Harry, dear Harry, do you hear me? The past is gone… It is gone now for good. You can be yourself, you no longer have to pretend… They tried to make you into someone else, but you wouldn't let them. You remained yourself… Remember that boy with broken glasses, who marveled at all the sweets on the Hogwarts Express? You spent a pile of money in order to share those sweets with others… Remember, you told me about that?"

Harry nodded, finding solace in her arms, in her words, in her memories. It turned out that she remembered that which he had long forgotten. She remembered _him_ – before he became The Boy Who Lived. She recalled the moments when he wasn't The Boy.

"Remember what you saw in the Mirror of Erised? Remember? Not glory, not feats of heroism… You saw your parents, because you were just a little boy. Just a boy… You didn't see Voldemort's death, or your revenge, what you saw was love, Harry… and what they tried to do to you for so many years, it never became a part of you. Because you are different… You are not a hero, no, you are just a man… Very brave, very strong, very unhappy…"

She stroked his hair, rocking him gently. And Harry squeezed her hand hard, afraid that, should she leave, the nightmare would return. He was thirty eight years old, he had gray in his hair, and yet he was still afraid of his own dreams, waking up screaming and in tears… And for the first time someone near and dear to him was there, to chase the nightmare away.

"You went into the Chamber of Secrets to save Ginny not because everyone thought of you as The Boy Who Lived. It was just that your huge kind heart would do anything for your friend and his loved ones… The world didn't see that, they considered it yet another deed of the Hero. Harry, you were always better than what was thought of you…" she kissed the top of his head, then pressed her cheek against it. "Remember when you flew the broomstick, how your face glowed? There, in the sky you were always just yourself, just Harry… I know that there you felt free from everything… Even from the label they always tried to stick on you… And remember Snape walking out of the cabinet wearing Neville's grandmother's trappings? Remember? That was pure laughter, pure joy. Your laughter, your joy… You remember that, don't you?"

He didn't remember. Not until she told him. And now he remembered, even the sound of laughter in the classroom – it all came back to him. And the smile on Lupin's face. And his mother and father in the mirror. And his first time on the Hogwarts Express. He wanted to whisper "go on, keep going", but Hermione seemed to understand the importance of what she was saying.

"And the graduation, do you remember? You two got so smashed that night that you went into the Forbidden Forest and they only found you a day later… You were all smeared in something that was awfully like…"

"The centaur dung," he whispered suddenly, remembering that as well. "And you laughed and laughed at Ron scooping it out of his ears…"

She smiled – he felt the smile on her cheek pressed against his hair.

"And Teddy getting drunk on the sly at your wedding? And Albus stealing Marie-Victoir's theater wig and putting it on James' head as he slept? You do remember that, don't you?"

Harry nodded – he was remembering it. She was speaking – and it was coming right back to him.

"Harry, the past, _that_ past, is no more, do you see? Because the Boy Who Lived is no more… He didn't survive, there was no way he could have survived, do you hear? He wasn't supposed to survive, according to the Dumbledore's plan and the laws of nature… He didn't survive, so let him go. Both him and his past…"

They lay in the dark, her arms wound tightly around his neck.

"It will be alright. You have Al. He needs you, and he misses you, I am sure of that. You can go to Hogwarts with me and visit with Lily and James. I don't think McGonagall would mind," she was running her fingers through his hair.

"You know, sometimes I envy Al…"

"Why?"

"Because Dumbledore comes to him in his sleep… I would even settle for Snape," he managed a grin. "Maybe I could dream about making him wash his hair?"

"I can just see you chasing after Professor Snape with shampoo…" she laughed quietly. He also smiled weakly.

They lay in the dark. And soon Harry realised that he was drifting off to sleep. Quiet, empty slumber where there was only the sun. It was strange – a bright, sunny light that didn't blind him, but simply was.

He woke up abruptly – just opened his eyes and sat up. The room was unnaturally light. Not from the sun – but from the light. Hermione wasn't there. Was she part of the dream?

He heard loud laughter coming from the outside. Harry stood up, stretching, took his glasses from the bedside-table, and walked over to the window.

Snow. The first snow of the season blanketed the yard, the houses, the streets. And Albus was horsing around in the yard, throwing snowballs at Hermione, who was trying to dodge them. They were laughing, covered in snow from head to tow. Albus' green scarf almost slid from his neck, his glasses hung on the tip of his nose. He was roaring with laughter, looking at Hermione shaking off a snowball.

Snow. The white sheet concealing the black earth beneath. And the trail of footprints.


	84. Part X - Chapter 4 - Theodic

**_Chapter 4. Theodic._**

Strength and vulnerability.

There cannot be strength in vulnerability. It is wrong. It is a falsity. Whatever Dumbledore says. Vulnerability brings pain. Losses. Betrayal. Crushed dreams. Strength gives confidence. Protection. Peace.

The evening school hallways. He didn't like coming here. Yet he did it all the time. Therein lies strength – in doing what is necessary. Overcoming the vulnerability.

Dumbledore – the restless portrait. The commander. Fond of his secrets and hiding places. Theo didn't mind. It gave him a chance. A chance? At what?

A chance to be with HER. Just to be there. Teaching. Directing. Admiring.

Dumbledore wants to keep it a secret. Theo is all for it. Let the Ministry lead their armies. Theo shall act much more subtly. Secret weapons. Aimed at one thing – the victory of the good over evil. At saving lives. And at saving Harry Potter. This is just like Dumbledore. He is a force to be reckoned with, all by himself.

Yet, he was vulnerable once. This vulnerability is what led to his becoming a portrait in the first place. Vulnerability. But for that, this vulnerability, he wouldn't have been killed. The cursed ring. Weakness. Saving the soul of a boy. A mere boy. And dying himself.

Theo said that to Dumbledore.

"Sometimes, when we lose, we win, my boy. We surrender in order to make someone else strong. Our vulnerability can sometimes turn into someone else's strength, believe me…"

Dumbledore. Endless riddles. He knows everything. And says nothing. He merely smiles.

Strength cannot be rooted in vulnerability. Weakness cannot breed strength. In anyone.

Theo turned a corner into another hallway. A nudge. Slight pain.

Wide eyes. Fearful. A tiny girl.

"I am sorry," she mumbles. Her eyes.

It was a reflex. Just a touch. Light. Involuntary.

Theo froze. She shrank away from him. Frightened by his the look on his face, no doubt. The astonishment in it.

She took off. Like a little bird. Soon only her footsteps sounded faintly in the distance. And he was still rooted to the spot.

Only a momentary touch. And the shock. The stupefaction. How? A First Year? A Second Year? How then?

He recalled her name. It was embroidered on her robe. Commit it to memory. Check it out later. Who? Why? How?

This cannot be.

Just like vulnerability bearing strength cannot be.

Theo entered the classroom. The classroom that was now familiar. Three chairs. A cot.

SHE will be here again today. And her partners. And Xenia. Today Xenia will also be here.

"Hello, Theo," – Xenia. They are now a team. The two of them, SHE and her partners. A common secret. A secret only they are in on. "No one else is here yet?"

Theo looked at her. Coming close. Face – blank. Eyes – cold. Indifference. She knows. She won't give him a glimmer of a chance. He won't be able to get in. Never again.

Once. Theo remembered. Only once. She only allowed him inside once. To touch. To make contact. To see. Accidentally. Only once.

She was twelve. She was crying. Her vulnerability. Her open mind. Theo saw. He saw her suffering. Her shock. Her rejection. Rejection of Theo. And of his methods. He knew why. And he saw her. From the inside.

"Theo, may I ask you a question?" she came closer. Cold. Indifferent. Green trim. Green tie. She could put up that appearance. A stranger. She was able to suppress the light in herself. Carefully considered and measured pretense. Calculation in addition to the natural gift.

Gravity. She could not do anything differently. Gravitating to souls. The shortest path. Gravity. Calculation. And there she is. Where she is needed. The shortest path to her destiny. Slytherin.

Predestination. She's known about it. Ever since she was a child. He saw it. Only once, but he did. Vague images. But certain knowledge. Knowledge of her calling. Acceptance of another's will. The will that led her along the path.

Gravity – obedience. Predestination – reckoning. She followed her calling. Now she knew her path. And Theo knew it. And Dumbledore. Dumbledore always knew everything.

"You were at St. Mungo's when Harry Potter was there," a statement, not a question. She is not afraid of eye contact. Her power is almost equal to his. She is not afraid. She knows – he won't get through. Not that Theo wanted it. "Did you touch him? Did you treat him?"

Theo nodded. He had guessed as much. Indeed, he anticipated her question.

Predestination. Gravity. Gift. And choice.

"You are unable to help him," Theo believed in what he was saying. Because he had been there. In Harry Potter's hell. "No one can help him."

"I don't believe it," shaking her head. Her eyes are cold. This is how she always does it. Defending herself. Closing herself off. "No one has ever tried… Not Legilemence, Theo, no. Not the mind – the soul, do you see?"

Theo did not respond. Soul is a vulnerability. Everything must obey the mind, the reason. Nothing can heal the soul.

"Xenia, turn away from this path. You still have a choice," he looked back at her. "You will crash and burn. You will lose yourself. Without helping him. Turn away while there is still time."

She smiled coldly:

"I had a choice. And I made it. The Sorting Hat gave it to me, just as the prophecy had stated. Slytherin. Not Ravenclaw. I chose my own path. And I know that this is my true calling," her voice full of certainty. "I believe in the power of feelings; I believe in the soul. It is stronger than the mind that you put all your faith in… Will you tell me about Harry Potter?"

Theo nodded. She made her choice. Everyone chooses their own path. True or not – time will tell. Yet, Xenia was mistaken. She did not choose on her own. The choice was made for her. Dumbledore. Theo was sure – it was Dumbledore. The commander.

Did Dumbledore know? Did he know of the hell of Harry Potter's? The man whom he pushed into this hell with his own hands. The hell forged by the Dark Lord. Yet, it was Dumbledore who imprisoned Harry Potter in it. Could the Teacher abandon his Student? No. And help always came in time.

Xenia did not make her choice on her own.

"A tunnel. Guilt. Screams." Theo closed his eyes. "And loneliness."

Xenia nodded. As though she understood something.

"Theo, the tunnel. Not a circle, not a spiral. A tunnel. And tunnels always have offshoots. And it always ends with the light."

"There are no offshoots there. And no light. The end is death."

"He simply cannot see the light. You said it yourself – guilt. And he cannot see the light. He won't allow himself to see it."

Theo turned away. Her eyes looked straight into his. His…

No, vulnerability cannot give strength.

Two students came in. SHE was not with them.

"Where is Miss Weasley?" in a calm, even voice.

"Her mother came to see her," Dan, not meeting his eyes. He knows – his block is still too weak. "She sends her apologies for not letting you know earlier."

"Fine. Let's begin."

SHE also made her choice. The mind or the soul. The duty or the heart.

Vulnerability cannot be strength.

Everything was wrong. SHE was not there.

Evening hallways. SHE was not there.

The Headmaster's study. McGonagall's wary eyes.

"Let him see it, Minerva," Dumbledore's voice. He looks happy. He is smiling. Father is frowning. Does he know something as well? Dumbledore – does. He knows about the strange girl. Of what cannot possibly be.

A student file. And only three words on the cover. Words that explain everything.

_Amanda Dylis Dursley_.


	85. Part X - Chapter 5 - Scorpius Malfoy

**_Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy._**

How many Potters does it take to tame one Malfoy? This is a question from the field of Numerology.

Scorpius was relaxing in the most comfortable chair in the Slytherin common room, trying to retain a single line from the book he had brought from home. The black cover caused other Slytherins to wonder, but it took one glare from Malfoy to send them all as far as each could fathom. It is his business what he wants to read.

_Francisco: _

_For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,_

_And I am sick at heart._

How right you are, my fictional friend. Sick does not even begin to cover it. It's as though my soul is as prickly as a hedgehog. Not _that_ hedgehog, the other one: with pricks turned inward. Do all Malfoys have souls like that? I would have never thought it…

_Bernardo:_

_Have you had quiet guard?_

_Francisco:_

_Not a mouse stirring._

That's how it was that night when he paid a visit to the Zabinis. Let them know Malfoy's lenience. They were unarmed, but so what? Lily was also unarmed when they made her drink that Arachna potion. They sent her to her death, while he merely gave them a slight taste of Malfoy's ire. Now if it was Drake, he would have torn him to pieces and hung those out to dry on a fir. Although, on the other hand, he could at least relate to the elder Zabini: ideology, meeting someone with similar views, encountering a spirit akin to his own. While Priscilla and Fritz merely exploited a situation to their advantage. They took revenge on an innocent girl. Malfoy simply showed them what the payback for baseness was.

His eyes slid across the familiar lines. He was not distracted by the whispers behind his back. Let them whisper; the Malfoy name is too significant, and blood purity matters too much in this room for the whispers to come to anything serious. They would still tiptoe around him, amicably shake his hand, nod at him in the hopes of earning a nod in return. Not all, but many. Because they have no idea of what true Slytherin honor is. And especially the true Malfoy honor.

_Bernardo:_

_Sit down awhile;_

_And let us once again assail your ears,_

_That are so fortified against our story_

Fortified, indeed. Weasley, may she be bitten by a sick niffler! It was not an assault on Lily's ears, but on him. On all his Malfoy insides. On his faith in something outside the Malfoy clan. Strangely, he believed that she was telling the truth. Because he was truly capable of many a thing.

Are Lily and he from different worlds? Absolutely.

Does he know how to get what he wants? Oh, yes, he does, very well; and he was never ashamed of that knowledge. The main thing was that no one knew about his methods. Such was The Malfoy Golden Rule.

Is he a cruel man? Yes, in some ways he is very cruel.

Can he easily shatter another's world? Without a second thought or a wince.

Did he torture Priscilla and Fritz Zabini? Yes, he did; and he did not feel any remorse afterwards.

Do Malfoys forgive damage done to their property? No, they don't. Nobody dragged that foursome to the Malfoy Manor.

Was there a dark side to him? Oh, not just a side, but a good two-thirds of his soul.

She was speaking the truth, and Scorpius could agree with her quite easily. And yet, he knew one thing very firmly – Rose Weasley was wrong. She was wrong about something very essential.

In his reverie he overlooked half a page. No, that won't do. He turned the page. This was the spot he had missed.

_Marcellus:_

_Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,_

_And will not let belief take hold of him_

_Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:_

_Therefore I have entreated him along_

_With us to watch the minutes of this night;_

Watch the minutes of the night… This is something I have done, Marcellus, you bookworm. How can one sleep, not knowing what the morning will bring? A Malfoy should not suffer over a girl and her feelings about him. Yet, he suffered, because something non-Malfoyish had long been alive in his soul. To hell with honor; to hell with code and rules. Yet, pride remained. And if she believed in all that; if she believed like he did, then he would simply agree with her. Because Rose Weasley spoke the truth.

Lily Potter fell in love with a ghost. She does not know his dark side. Only an illusion. She only sees the silver snow. She has never experience his version of a tsunami. A cyclone. A tornado. And Malfoy hoped that she never would.

Does Lily Potter truly know what he has wanted from her and what he wants now? No. Because he doesn't know it himself.

_Bernardo:_

_Last night of all,_

_When yond same star that's westward from the pole_

_Had made his course to illume that part of heaven_

Yes, illuminating, indeed. Because he couldn't even conceive, coming down to the Slytherin common room last night, that he would see Lily Potter there. She caught him unawares constantly: with unexpected slaps, unexpected kisses, unexpected actions. Fire that could give warmth, but could also burn. He would have never thought that she would dare to show up at the Slytherin dungeon and stand up against the older and more experienced adversaries, her wand at the ready. Stupid Gryffindor bravery!

_Horatio:_

_What art thou that usurp'st this time of night,_

_Together with that fair and warlike form…_

Merlin, Horatio, were you here at the exact moment when Lily Potter was holding Tobias Parkinson at the tip of her wand?! Because that was what she looked like at that moment: fair and warlike. And he wanted to stand between her and the danger. Yet, she seemed to be managing just fine on her own.

_Bernardo:_

_How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale:_

_Is not this something more than fantasy?_

_What think you on't?_

A fantasy. Of love. Of being needed. Of being necessary. The fantasy that materialized in the slender girl with light-green eyes and flaming red hair. A ghost. And Rose Weasley's words that became the wall between him and that fantasy. He was sure that Lily would accept that she had made a mistake. That she would take back her words of love. And he was prepared to give her back her heart. Because Malfoys never begged. Because he still had his pride. And because ever since he was a boy, he was convinced that he could not be loved.

_Horatio:_

_Before my God, I might not this believe_

_Without the sensible and true avouch_

_Of mine own eyes._

He would not have believed it. Definitely. She came to him of her own volition. Not to take back her own heart. To capture his.

_Horatio:_

_As thou art to thyself:_

_Such was the very armour he had on…_

Her slender fingers got so easily under his armour. When? How? He didn't know. But they touched the light part of his soul. Touched it – and make him acutely aware of it. Her words – he believed every one of them, although he had been fully prepared to make it easier for her to leave him. But she did not want to leave… She came to stay with him. Just as he was. Did she know what he really was? She must have, since she was not afraid…

_Horatio:_

_In what particular thought to work I know not;_

_But in the gross and scope of my opinion,_

_This bodes some strange eruption to our state._

Oh, yes, friend Horatio, it does indeed. And not only Denmark, but the Malfoy domain as well. Because Lily Potter stepped over everything – his grudges, his haughtiness, his pride, his sarcasm. She stepped over the Malfoy family name and peered straight into his striped soul…

He shut the book – reading wasn't comforting for him today. It seemed that Shakespeare was writing his play while looking at the portrait of Scorpius Malfoy.

The Slytherin reduced the book, put it away in his robes pocket and stood up, intending to go find James Potter. Maybe he would agree to receive Scorpius on top of his fir and share a bottle of Firewhiskey to the health of the Malfoy part of his soul that Lily Potter accepted so unconditionally.

How many Potters did it take to tame one Malfoy? One. With a Weasley for a snack.

Scorpius didn't have time to finish his thought when he saw the Head Girl rushing down the hall. Malfoy looked around – nobody in sight. Well-well-well… He lazily fetched his wand – and in the next moment Rose Weasley froze by the suit of armour she was passing by.

Scorpius strolled over to her, his hands in his pockets, looking her over. She watched him contemptuously as he straightened the Head Girl badge on her robe. Then Malfoy removed the _Petrificus Totalus_ spell, but with another spell glued her to the wall.

"What do you want, Malfoy? Of have you decided that the Slytherin house has gained too many points?" her eyes were blazing; she stood her ground despite her obvious vulnerability. Scorpius smiled rapaciously.

"No, not at all, Weasley… I am simply behaving according to your image of me. It is against my personal rules to disappoint ladies, especially Head Girls…"

"Let me go, Malfoy," she didn't try to break free, merely glared murderously at him. "Now."

"Well, have you now re-affirmed your original opinion of me as a wicked Slytherin?" he leaned toward her. "Keep in mind, Weasley, that you were right about me, in every point of your fiery speech. Therefore, beware of standing in my way."

He let her go, watching her indignation with a nasty smile. Rose pointed her wand at him, although she must have realised that she wouldn't get a chance to do anything, because he never even lowered his wand. And it was against the Weasley's principles to start a duel in the middle of a Hogwarts hallway.

"If you hurt Lily, I will show you revenge Weasley-style and, believe me, your Daddy will have trouble recognizing you. And if you ever try to do something like this to me again, instead of recognizing, your father will be hard-pressed to identify your body," Rose turned on her heels and walked away.

As for Malfoy, he merely smiled. If it wasn't for Lily, he might have asked himself how many Malfoys would it take to tame one Weasley. He smiled even wider at that thought and went back to his original plan: to find Potter.

[This chapter cites "Hamlet" by W. Sheakspeare, Act I, Scene I.]


	86. Part X - Chapter 6 - Hermione Weasley

_**Chapter 6. Hermione Weasley.**_

Hermione walked out of Minerva McGonagall's fireplace, to which she had been given access and immediately told the Headmistress about the Time-Turner that he received during her third year at Hogwarts, so as to remove any doubts as to her identity. As a rule, Hogwarts has now been on a complete lock-down ever since the official announcement about the werewolf danger in the newspaper, but Professor McGonagall had been known to make exceptions for Hermione even back when she was a student at Hogwarts, much more so now, when everything was difficult and complicated, and every member of the Potter and Weasley family was in more danger than others.

"Forgive me, Professor, that I didn't come right after lunch, as I promised," Hermione used her wand to remove ashes from her robes. "Albus fell sick…"

"Sick?" McGonagall, instantly alarmed, turned towards Dumbledore's portrait. However, the only prominent thing there was the chair – the Headmaster must have gone to visit one of his many other portraits.

"Yes, he has a cold. It is partially my fault," Hermione smiled sheepishly. "He and I played snowballs in the morning and he must have overexerted himself. He's got a fever and the beginnings of the sniffles… It is nothing serious; I have given him all the appropriate potions and he should be better by morning, I think…"

"I hope so. If it gets worse, please make sure you let me know; Madam Pomfrey can examine him," McGonagall put the papers on her desk in a neat stack and rose. "Do you wish to speak to the children here?"

"No-no, I think we'll just take a walk…"

"All right; in that case, the house elves shall let Mr. and Ms. Weasley know to meet you in the Great Hall."

Hermione nodded and left the study. She frequented it too much in the last two months.

The evening Hogwarts seemed a little deserted; there were hardly any students in the hallways. Those that she came across gave her slightly astonished looks as they walked by.

She hoped that she wouldn't have to bother Madam Pomfrey, and Albus would get better quickly. It was just a regular cold, after all. For Harry, however, it was a catastrophe – he barely left his son's side ever since he felt his forehead at breakfast. It was just a cold, but for Harry who had always relied on Ginny for all everyday matters, it felt no less dramatic than a consequence of an Unforgivable Curse. That was why Hermione could not go to Hogwarts right away, as she had planned. By the time she was leaving, however, Albus was sleeping restfully, and his fever was mostly gone, so she felt much easier about leaving the Potters alone.

"Mum!" Hugo came over to her – not in his school robes, but in jeans and a jacket. He must always dress like this on the weekends, but Hermione never paid attention before. She kissed her son's cheek, amazed at how fast he was growing – at this point she had to stretch on her tiptoes to reach him. Just as tall and gangly as Ron. Ron…

"How are you doing, Hugo? How is school?"

He merely waved his hand and shrugged his shoulders vaguely. He must be okay then. He might look very much like Ron, but his personality was a lot more Granger than Weasley. He reminded Hermione of her father.

"And how are you doing, Ma? Nothing from Dad yet?" Hugo looked closely at her, scratching the top of his red-haired head. Hermione shook her head.

"Here I am!" Rose ran down the stairs, buttoning her robes on the way. For some reason she was gripping her wand in her hand and looked somehow… disheveled.

"Hello, darling, did something happen?" Hermione hugged Rose. Her grown-up, independent girl.

"No, everything is fine. Just… got into an argument with someone," Rose smiled and took her mother's hand. "Shall we go? The house elf said that I needed to dress warmly. That means we are taking a walk, right?"

The three of them walked out into the sun-lit yard – the snow melted in patches, but it still covered the recently black and bare ground like a white blanket. In the distance some students were playing snowballs, laughing merrily.

The Auror on duty watched them as they walked by. Hermione nodded at him; he responded and seemed to relax a little bit, although he remained close by, his wand at the ready. Will this measure help to keep the children safe? Hermione hoped so.

Rose walked over to the park bench that afforded a full view of the Whomping Willow, wiped off the snow and dried the bench using her wand.

"Please take your seats," she smiled and sat down first. Hermione sat next to her, while Hugo remained standing before them, arms folded. Red hair fell onto his forehead – Hermione thought about reminding him to get a haircut. And Rose had lost some weight, although she remained just as pretty as ever. Hermione herself was never that pretty, either at her daughter's age or any time later. Her daughter, her little flower was coming into full bloom.

Hermione often rued that Rose grew up so much like herself. Not in appearance – in personality. Barely sixteen, she tried to take so much responsibility onto her slender shoulders. She was trying to be a grown-up, although no one ever expected this of her.

As far back as Hermione could remember, Rose always tried to make her own decisions – starting with the colour of the dress she wore on her fifth birthday party and the amount of icing on her birthday cake to the choice of N.E.W.T.s and her relationships with boys. The independent Rose.

"Mum, did Daddy write to you?" she was looking at Hermione with understanding, but there was still hope in her voice – the hope of a child for the fulfillment of her most cherished wish.

"No."

"He didn't write to me either; I don't even know of he received my letter," Rose looked down at her hands and then at Hugo. "We were wondering, actually, what made made him leave in the first place… He did talk to you, didn't he?"

"Well, yes," Hermione smiled sadly at her children.

"So? How did he explain his leaving?" Hugo frowned a little, shifting from foot to foot. "Well, except that he was afraid to cause us harm…"

"Oh…" Hermione did not know how to put into words what she had to convey to them. To say it gently, so that they would understand their father and why he had to leave. "He said the same thing to me that he said to you. That he feared for us."

"Or rather, feared himself?" Rose corrected her mother, her lips tightening.

"Yes, that would be more precise," Hermione nodded. It was difficult to speak under her children's close scrutiny. She could not lie to them, but she could not tell them the truth either. She could not tell them that the wounds from his paws were still healing on her body and the bruises from his embrace were still visible on her skin. "You do understand that you father is going through a tough time right now…"

"And he decided that breaking all ties with his old life would make it easier for him," Rose said quietly. Darling, perceptive Rose. How early we forced you into growing up… "It is stupid."

Hermione was silent, unsure how to respond.

"Mum, what else did he say?" Hugo was drawing patterns on the frosty ground with the toe of his boot. "Will he come back?"

"No, I don't think he will," Hermione knew that she was being cruel, but she had promised to herself that in this respect she would be totally honest with her children. "Harry spoke to him…"

"Yeah… If even Uncle Harry could not persuade him to come back…" Rose muttered and then looked at her mother. "Where is Daddy now?"

"I don't know. He doesn't want us to know that, but I am sure that if he needs help, he'll ask for it," Hermione said that with true confidence. This was Ron, after all; he couldn't not ask for help. He always did. Yet, he had always come back before…

"It was not one of your usual spats then," Hugo sighed sadly and finally sat down between Rose and his mother. "Daddy experienced a slight shift in perspective…"

"Hugo!" Rose rebuked her brother. "Don't say that; this is difficult for Daddy!"

"And it is not difficult for us?" the boy snorted, getting up. "He could have at least visit with his own children before calling it quits… Uncle Harry didn't go anywhere, after all, although it is hardly easier for him…"

"He did not become a werewolf, like Daddy did," Rose noted quietly, looking at Hugo. "He does not have to run from anyone…"

Hermione didn't say anything. Harry did have someone to run from, just like Ron did, but none of them could run from themselves. Only Harry was used to living with that, and Ron… Ron was different. And he must have chosen the option that best suited him under the circumstances. To leave. As Rose said, to break off all connections with the former Ron and reinvent a new Ronald Weasley.

"Uncle Harry never ran from no one…"

"Hugo!"

"Quiet, children," Hermione laid her hand on her son's shoulder in a conciliatory gesture. "This is not about Uncle Harry and anyone's bravery. It simply happened. You father made a decision. And we must accept it. We don't like it, and it is hurting our feelings, but there is nothing we can do to change it…"

"Yes, we can!" Hugo stood up, looking crossly at Rose. "We must find him and force him to come back! What do we care if he is a werewolf or a vampire?! Or even a poltergeist! He is our father!"

"Hugh, even if we manage to find him, which I doubt," Rose began patiently, "we cannot make him come back. He. Made. His decision. Mum is right – we must accept it, even if we don't understand it. And hope for his return. Or… for his future happiness."

A strong girl. Rose, how have you managed to find the inner strength to step over your own attachment to your father and put what is best for him first?

"He will never be happy without us! Without Mum! Without Uncle Harry!" Hugo fumed.

"Yet, we can wish him to be happy," Hermione said, looking at her outraged son. "Because there is nothing else we can do… this was his decision."

"Mum, why? Why did you accept it so lightly?" Hugo was looking suspiciously at Hermione. "Why did you let him go?"

"Because I love your father," she replied simply, knowing how unnatural and silly her answer sounded to her fifteen-year-old son. Rose understood her, however – Hermione could see it in her daughter's eyes.

Hugo swallowed his response and glanced toward the now lit windows of the castle.

"Sorry, Mum," he shrugged his shoulders. "It is probably up to you two… I shall go; I promised Shelley to help her out with her Charms homework before supper."

"All right, dear," Hermione kissed her son as he leant toward her. "Take care of yourself. And say hello to the other Weasleys for me."

Hugo nodded, waved his big hand in farewell and shuffled toward the castle, his shoulders slumped dejectedly.

"Don't be upset, Mum; he just hasn't gotten used to it yet…"

Hermione turned back toward her daughter. In the gathering twilight Rose's eyes seemed almost black.

"Yes, none of us has, Rose," she hugged her daughter's shoulders. "And neither have you; you just decided for some reason not to show it… I don't know the exact moment when your father and I failed to show you that you didn't have to grow up so quickly."

Rose smiled sadly, kissing her mother's cheek:

"Maybe you two should not have had Hugo? Or you, go back to work when he was only four years old…"

"Yes, you are probably right, as always," Hermione nodded her assent.

Yet, back then it seemed the right thing to do. She did not want to be a stay-at-home Mom. She wanted to apply herself, to work at the Ministry, to have not only family, but a successful career as well. She didn't want Ginny's lot. Was Ginny's lot so bad, to have devoted herself completely to her husband, children and home? Probably not. Yet, for Hermione, it was unacceptable. She could not give up who she was. "You always looked after Hugo as though you were five years apart, instead of one…"

"That's because he always muddled everything and wreaked trouble and mischief," Rose grinned. "And then there was Daddy who always came home from work before you did…"

"Forgive me, daughter…"

"No, it is alright, really…" Rose pulled back and smiled at her mother. "I cannot imagine it any other way, you know? Sometimes I do want to just be a beloved little girl, a daughter who is coddled and protected… But only sometimes, when I am tired… Usually I like myself just the way I am… Because… my life is chuck-full. I have plenty of people to take care of… I have friends who are always ready to help… I feel needed…"

"Oh, Rose…" Hermione shook her head. "And when will you start living for yourself? By the way, where is your relationship with Michael Williams going?"

Rose turned away, hiding a faint smile:

"Nowhere. We decided to stay friends…"

"Oh, I am sure he was thrilled," Hermione laughed, remembering the passionate face of the blond young man who came by to wish Rose happy birthday. "And why is that? Have you met anyone else? Or have you just not had time for anyone?"

Rose grinned at her mother, sliding back into her embrace:

"It is not difficult to find the time… It is harder to find someone who could stand me for more than five minutes at a time."

"I cannot believe that there are no boys like that in school."

Rose was silent, but Hermione had a feeling that her daughter was mulling something over.

"Mum, can it be that you like someone and are a bit scared of him at the same time?"

"Hmm, I am not sure; it depends of what kind of a person it is and why he scares you," Hermione replied, a little disconcerted. "Who are you talking about?"

"Well, we have a man like that in school," Rose looked embarrassed. "Sometimes it seems to me that he is just horrendously unhappy."

"Why?"

"Because he has no happy memories," the girl sat up straight, looking her mother in the eye. "But it cannot be! They have to be there; it just appears to me that he does not see them. Or he does not let himself see them… But how would someone do that? And why? They are happy memories after all!"

Hermione looked down sadly, remembering last night. Harry. Harry Potter could not see his happy memories. He forgot them, because he was forced to forget them, year after year. He thought that he had no happy memories before Hermione practically opened his eyes to them anew. That was how he looked when she woke up to his moans behind the wall. She rushed into his room, afraid of what she was going to see. And then he was screaming terribly, thrashing on his bed and weeping in his sleep.

Did it ever happen in the years he spent with Ginny? Somehow, Hermione was sure that it didn't. She was sure that Ginny's love granted Harry refuge from the nightmares, and her arms gave him peace, at least during the night.

And Hermione didn't even notice drawing Harry into her arms, under her protection. It turned out that she too could protect Harry from his past, although during the past few days they really tried avoiding one another.

It felt strange to become aware of having started something, halfway down the path. They appeared to be just good acquaintances or relatives, not too close, not too intimate. But last night, while telling Harry what she remembered from all those years ago, it was as though she walked down the long path of their friendship once again. Only now it was without Ron.

"Rose, I don't know what sort of a boy you have found," Hermione smiled at her daughter. "But if you really like him, you can attempt to help him. And yourself… He must have some happy memories, but he may need help recapturing them. Or… creating new ones."


	87. Part X - Chapter 7 - Teddy Remus Lupin

_**Chapter 7. Teddy Remus Lupin.**_

Teddy was watching Marie-Victoire wander around the living room of their small cottage, rehearsing her part. Teddy couldn't understand why she was doing it, since the theatre was closed until further notice – to remove the temptation for the werewolves that large public gatherings created. Still, since Marie now found herself at loose ends, she was simply preparing for the much-awaited "Tantallegra" theatre reopening.

"Teddy, darling, come over here, since you aren't doing anything anyway," Marie-Victoire called out to him as she stood by the fireplace, a scroll of parchment in her hand.

Lupin smiled – he was actually proof-reading the newspaper pages that had to be sent to the printer come Monday, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he got to his feet and walked over to Marie, still smiling softly.

She was very beautiful when she was acting, because her eyes shone with a special kind of luminescence – it was the aspiration to become a star, to be the focus of every pair of eyes in the audience, to hear the applause. To act – and to derive great pleasure from it.

"Help me," she asked, pointing to a place on the scroll.

"What must I do?" Lupin inquired, without even looking at the script. She would be telling him anyway. This was not the first time.

"You must kill me," Marie said simply.

"No, that one you will have to do without me," Lupin turned around and regained his prior position on the couch. "It is enough for me that other men kill, stab, strangle, and also kiss and hold you on stage."

"But, Lupin, that is what theatre is about!" Marie said, for what must have been a hundredth time, walking over to him. "Oh, come on, how difficult is that? Just kill me…"

"How?" Teddy was smiling again, looking at his fiancée. If anyone was to hear their conversation…

"You must stab me in a fit of rage."

"For what reason this time?"

"Lupin!" she threw the scroll that lay on the table at the young man. He laughed, caught the scroll and continued to look at Marie-Victoire.

"No, really, why are you getting killed this time around?"

"Because of jealousy," she walked back to the middle of the room, as though positioning herself for the most authentic-looking death scene.

"Ouch, how unoriginal," Teddy waved his wand and a couple of couch cushions flew and landed at Marie's feet. "That's just so you don't get any bruises."

"How considerate of you," she smiled at him with one of her most coy smiles and then glanced again at the script. "Oh, come on, Lupin, please be a dear, kill me!"

"What are you staging this time?" Teddy did not even move, simply feasting his eyes on Marie's face. When she got in character, he could hardly take his eyes off her, amazed that she could transform like that.

"'The Diadem' by Sandra Prewett," Marie-Victoire said briskly, still scanning the parchment. "I have told you that."

"Really? When?"

"Lupin, one of these days it will be me killing you," the girl promised, without looking up. "I told you that we talked the Gray Lady – Helena Ravenclaw's ghost – into acting as herself after her character's death. In the very end there is a scene where she helps Harry Potter find the lost diadem."

"And you play Helena during her lifetime," Lupin recalled. She really had told him that. "And Bloody Baron will stab you, right? Have you talked him into playing a part as well?"

"Enough of your jokes, Lupin," Marie-Victoire asked, tossing aside the script. "You know that the phrase 'if looks could kill' applies to him. Besides, the Gray Lady refused to share the stage with him…"

"How tragic," Teddy grinned, going back to his newspaper pages.

"Teddy, I am asking you for the last time – kill me!" Marie began to get angry – she waved her wand and ripped the newspaper out of Lupin's hands. He sighed heavily and got off the couch.

"What is the weapon?" Teddy inquired calmly and even docilely, walking up to Marie. She handed him a fake dagger. "Where do I stab?"

"In the chest, of course, Lupin! Why, all rejected lovers stab girls in the heart; it is so dramatic," she stood before him. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

Lupin looked at the dagger, then smirked, grasped the front of her sweater and pulled her to him, kissing her mouth as he bent her backward.

"You, rotten liar!" she bit Teddy lightly on the lip and punched him in the chest. "You are not following the script. You must stab me!"

"I shall not stab you," Lupin smiled, heading back to his seat. "And keep in mind – during the opening night I'll close my eyes at the exact moment when yet another pretty actor stabs you in the heart…"

"Oh, Teddy, please help me rehearse…" Marie snuggled up to him, batting her eyelashes. "I simply can't do without you. I want to imagine what this scene will look like… I shall kiss you… Many times over… More than just kiss… Only stab me!"

His arms automatically went around her, his cunning Marie, when they heard the rustling noise from the fireplace. They turned around – Hermione stood on the fireplace rug, a little stunned, looking from one to the other. Well, they stood in each other's arms, but what was so strange about that to warrant a look of consternation on Hermione's face?

"Forgive me, what is this about?" their visitor forced out, rooted to the spot. Only then Lupin realised the funny side of the situation. He was holding a dagger and Marie was begging him to stab her! Hardly something to be expected, unless one knew the context…

Lupin let go of Marie-Victoire who was chocking with sudden laughter. It was natural for her – to just spontaneously burst out laughing – and infectious.

"Hello, Hermione; we were just rehearsing Marie's next role," Teddy walked over to their guest in order to take the cloak from her, but it seemed that she did not plan to stay long. "Did something happen?"

"I… was looking for Harry," she said, still looking a bit confused, while Marie was shaking with laughter behind Teddy's back – she must have fully imagined the scene Hermione had witnessed, in technicolour. "But, from what I saw, I surmise that he is not here."

"He didn't stop by today," Lupin shook his head, his merriment evaporating.

"It is strange. I went to Hogwarts while he stayed with Albus. Al is a little under the weather and I assumed that Harry would stay with him all day, but now Angelina is watching him, while Harry had gone somewhere."

"Hermione, don't get so worried," Teddy tried to comfort the woman. "What if he went to the Ministry? Or to Mr. Weasley's?"

"He might have," Hermione said uncertainly, while Teddy was thinking of Albus being sick.

"Hermione, could Harry have gone to his house?"

"Why?" she sounded frightened.

"It is just that, as far as I know, whenever Albus got sick, he always asked for Sticky Joe."

"For whom?" Marie echoed from behind Teddy's back.

"Sticky Joe," Lupin smiled faintly. "It is what he calls a big stuffed cerpent that Harry and Ginny bought for him at the Diagon Alley four years ago…"

"Merlin, Teddy, could Harry have gone there again?" Hermione turned toward the fireplace. "It is worth checking."

"Wait!" Lupin turned around to glance at Marie-Victoire, who merely shrugged her shoulders, knowing what he meant without words. "Don't go there alone. Who knows who could be at that house…"

Hermione smiled sadly, but let Teddy go first. He didn't put on a cloak – merely took out his wand and stepped into the fireplace.

Harry was home – the entrance was unsealed. Careless godfather! What if someone besides Lupin and Hermione decided to look for him here? And what if that someone was already here?

Teddy did not wait for Hermione and rushed into the living room. It was quiet here; dust covered every surface.

He found his godfather in the bedroom. Harry was sat on the floor by the fireplace. The fire gleamed in his black hair, highlighting the early grey. In his lap lay Sticky Joe with huge eyes that changed hue depending on the mood of the person holding him. Lupin noticed that Joe seemed to be asleep.

Harry started, opening his eyes.

"You could have asked someone to pick him up," Lupin nodded at the stuffed serpent.

His godfather looked as though he had just returned from some place where he was being sawed into pieces alive. Dead eyes, bitten and bleeding lip, sunken cheeks and absolutely white face, contrasting sharply with black hair.

Lupin dropped to his knees next to him:

"Harry why are you doing this to yourself? Why come here, knowing that it will cause you pain?" Teddy took the toy from his godfather and took his hand, forcing him to his feet.

Hermione stood in the doorway, looking at the two of them, but Harry seemed to be oblivious to it.

"I must…" his voice failed him, just like his body had. "I must walk this path… alone."

Lupin merely shook his head, refusing to accept Harry's self-torture.

"Let's go," he pulled Harry toward the door where Hermione stood, her eyes glued to Harry's face. Then she practically ripped Harry's hand from Lupin's. The other nodded and went back to retrieve Sticky Joe.

The three of them – or four, counting Al's toy – Apparated to Hermione's house. She held Harry's hand and he, like an obedient child, followed her to the porch. Just as docilely he went with her to the living room.

"I have to take Sticky Joe to Albus," Lupin's godfather said suddenly just as the young man entered the house, closing the door behind him. Harry moved as though to leave, but Hermione held on to him.

"Ouch!" she gripped her neck.

"Sorry, did I break it?"

Lupin came closer – in Hermione's palm was a locket suspended from a chain.

"It's alright; I shall fix it," she closed her palm around the locket and looked closely at Harry. "How are you?"

"I tore the chain on your locket," Lupin's godfather said. His face finally betrayed a live emotion – remorse. "That's the one that Ron gave you, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded.

"And he has one like it, too, right?"

Lupin watched both of them, holding Sticky Joe. The toy's green face was smiling widely.

"Yes," Hermione turned to Teddy. "We should probably return you to Marie… As far as I gathered, you were in the process of stabbing her…"

Lupin smiled, seeing a slightly frightened look on Harry Potter's face. Ted handed the toy to his godfather:

"Here."

"Stabbing?"

"Yes, because Marie has the part of Helena Ravenclaw in a new play. By the way, the role of Harry Potter is in there as well… They didn't try to get you to fill it, did they?"

Harry shook his head, trying to smile.

"If you find out who is cast in it, tell him I have nothing by compassion for him. And tell him not too get too far in character," Harry took Sticky Joe and went up the stairs. Lupin smiled at Hermione and walked to the fireplace.

Well, if Marie tries to make him kill her right in the middle of their living room, he will always be able to distract her by recalling her fiery death pleas before Hermione. Knowing Marie, Teddy could guarantee that he would have at least five minutes to come up with the next ploy to make her laugh.


	88. Part X - Chapter 8 - The Potters

_**Chapter 8. The Potters.**_

Lily was walking down the snow-powdered path from Hagrid's house, where the two of them had tea and chatted. Mostly about her father, because Hagrid positively doted on Harry Potter who grew up right before his very eyes. And about Albus, because of the shared passion – dragons. Sometimes Lily thought that the moment Albus set foot on Hogwarts grounds, something big, green and fire-breathing would materialize. Hagrid loved to recall "the good ol' days" when talking about James. The gamekeeper often likened James to his grandfather and Sirius Black, although the current dynamic duo definitely beat the records of points lost and detentions received.

No kidding! Last year alone, Gryffindor house lost the House Cup to Slytherin because James managed to lose two hundred points at the beginning of the year. Only by March the the Gryffindors managed to climb out of the deep "negative" pit, for which some of them were unlikely to ever forgive James. Still, it was in no small measure because of him that Gryffindor won the final Quidditch game with Slytherin and received the fourth Quidditch Cup in a row. This made up for almost everything that the Gryffindor "favorite" had dished out over the course of the year.

Lily passed Hagrid's vegetable patch where the Halloween pumpkins were already looming large, and was heading towards the castle when she noticed Xenia sitting on a park bench. Yet, it was not the Slytherin girl herself who drew Lily's attention, but the book in her lap. Lily would recognize that cover anywhere.

"Hello," Lily sat down next to Xenia who looked up and closed the book. Her father's green eyes were looking at the Gryffindor from the cover. He didn't look a day over eighteen on the picture. Blood-red letters spanned the front cover: _The Boy Who Lived: Facts and Recollections_. "Couldn't find a more engaging read?"

Xenia was staring at Lily as though mulling over something. Then she smiled softly:

"Madam Pince recommended this book to me as the best…"

"Well, yes, this is the best book about Daddy," Lily agreed. Although such books were strictly forbidden in the house – her father couldn't stand them – Lily read everything she could find in the Hogwarts library about Harry Potter's past. It would have been shameful to be ignorant of her father's heroic history. And yet, she didn't like most of them – they either overdid it on pathos and heroism or they seemed more fiction than fact when it came to real events. It was the stuff of gossip… "And why are you suddenly interested in such literature?"

Xenia continued to smile softly, fingering the page where she stopped. Lily noticed that the Slytherin had almost finished the book. What for? Why would Xenia be reading about her father?

"I met your father… on Saturday," the Slytherin glanced at the cover where the young Harry Potter was glaring at the title. "And I wanted to know more about him. After all, he is not only a British hero. Besides…"

Yes, besides, he is also James' father, Lily filled in mentally. She could still feel a little pang of jealousy toward her brother, but only a slight one. Lily had to admit that Xenia made the situation much easier for James. Just like Scorpius did for Lily… It must have been helpful to James that the Slytherin girl was a Healer and she probably could… A Healer…

"You want to help our father, don't you?" the Gryffindor guessed, standing up and looking Xenia straight in the eye. "Help him get over Mummy's death, like you helped James, right?"

The Slytherin smiled again and gave a short nod.

"I saw your father in Professor McGonagall's study. He needs help, although I may not be the best person to deliver it… Yet, I have to try, because…" she didn't finish, but simply opened the book again and began leafing through the pages. "I have almost finished reading, and something struck me as very odd."

"What?" Lily sat back down – she was curious now, plus Xenia's intention to help her father completely reconciled Lily with James' girlfriend.

"Look here…" the Slytherin opened the book on the chapter that related the recollections of Harry Potter's classmates and friends, teachers, and simply past acquaintances. "There are statements here from your mother, Ronald Weasley, Professor Longbottom, Flitwick, and even Aberford Dumbledore," Xenia grinned and Lily understood why: Professor Dumbledore's brother was very emotional and impetuous, and he related the injustices done to poor Potter boy colourfully and descriptively. "Yet, there is nothing here from the Golden Trio girl, from Hermione Granger," the Slytherin looked up at Lily. "It was she who come to see McGonagall with your father, wasn't it?"

"It must have been," Lily agreed, unsurprised; after all, with whom else could her father share the burden of worry for his kidnapped daughter? He always shared everything with Hermione. It was strange indeed that her recollections were not in the book. Lily somehow missed that fact before. "I cannot image why she wasn't quoted here…"

"Yes, it is, since she is an inalienable part of the story of The Boy Who Lived…" Xenia said pensively. "All right, one more question… The last name of 'Umbridge' – is it a popular one in Britain or is it mere coincidence that…"

"No, it is not coincidence," Lily smirked, leaning back on the bench, "our Minister of Magic is indeed a relative of that very Umbridge. Her son, in fact."

"Wow…"

"Mum always thought that this was why it took Father so long to be promoted to a team lead, and why he never got to the Department Head position," Lily was staring at the book cover, trying to meet her father's eyes on the photograph.

"It is… unbelievable," Xenia was blinking, looking a little stunned. "Fine. Tell me this: why did your father and his five friends go to the Department of Mysteries where they battled with Lord Voldemort and his cohorts? What for? No one said anything in here about that. Ronald Weasley, for instance," Xenia found the right page, "didn't say anything at all besides that they had a fight with the Death Eaters and that afterwards the magical community finally gave credence to Harry's words and believed that Voldemort had returned… He sort of glossed over the whole issue… What was it that happened there?"

Lily looked sadly at Xenia:

"They don't talk about it so as not to cause fresh pain to Father… Mum told us that Lord Voldemort lured Daddy to the Department of Mysteries by pretending to have captured his godfather, Sirius Black. Daddy believed him and went there. And the members of the Order of the Phoenix rushed there to defend him. Sirius Black was among them. He was killed…"

Xenia exhaled forcefully, her eyes closed. Lily even became a little frightened, but in the next moment the Slytherin smiled at her soothingly:

"I see… Yes, this explains a lot… Cedric Diggory, whom your father led to his death with his own hands…"

"Meaning?" the Gryffindor was at a loss.

"Well, judging by all accounts – both the Death Eaters and those who had heard the story, including Cedric's parents here – I wish I could look into the eyes of those who had the gull to bother them with this… Anyway, according to all accounts, Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory would have had to touch the Triwizard Cup simultaneously, in order for both of them to get to that cemetery. Could it be coincidental that they both grabbed it together? Not likely… And if so, then they met at the location of the Cup or somehow ended up there together. And they decided that they were both worthy of the Cup… Which one of them suggested taking the Cup together? Somehow, I think it was Harry Potter…"

Lily was trying to follow Xenia's train of thought. What was she talking about? What for? What was she trying to achieve by digging into Harry Potter's past?

"Xenia, how is your reading this book and collecting information about Father going to help him?" she inquired cautiously.

The Slytherin shut the book and set it aside:

"I am trying to understand how to help him; it is difficult to explain, but I am quite certain," Xenia raised her cold eyes to look at Lily, "that the cause is in his past…"

"The cause is obvious: Mum died!"

To Lily's surprise and even chagrin, the Slytherin shook her head:

"It is merely the cause for the aggravation of his illness. The illness itself, no matter its formal name, started long ago… I am sure – it is rooted in distant past…"

"Illness?"

"Yes. Lily, your father's soul has been ripped to pieces," Xenia said calmly, looking Lily straight in the eye. Somehow, it was easy for Lily to believe this look and this voice. "And I want to help him…"

The Gryffindor hung her head, unsure how to respond. She had heard that there were Healers whose specialty was to treat what was commonly called "a soul"… Could it be..? She raised her eyes to look at James' girlfriend and saw that Xenia was looking into the distance, where the blue marble of the Memorial of Life gleamed in the twilight.

"Has your father been here to see that?" Xenia nodded toward the statue.

"As far as I know, he came to the unveiling, and then… I don't think so," Lily shrugged her shoulders, more and more confused about the direction of Xenia's thoughts. "Why?"

The Slytherin turned back toward Lily – the look in her eyes was no longer as cold.

"As far as I understand, your father became The Boy Who Lived because his mother died and gave him a special protection and also because a portion of Lord Voldemort's soul broke of and lodged in his soul, making him a living Horcrux…"

"Yes," these were publicly known facts. What was Xenia getting at?

"Therefore, when Harry Potter went into the forest where Lord Voldemort killed the portion of his own soul inside him, he ceased to be The Boy. Because his mother's protection stopped the day he turned seventeen…" Xenia gaze shifted once again to the statue gleaming on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "And for your father this is not a Life Memorial. For him – it really is the Memorial to the dead Boy Who Lived… Because this Boy did, in fact, die. But did anyone realise this?"

Lily frowned:

"Xenia, but my father is The Boy…"

"No," the Slytherin said firmly, turning around. "He was simply forced to take on the mantle of The Boy. The whole world wished so. The world forced him to be who he never wanted to be… this is indeed a memorial of the one long dead… And the world didn't even noticed the loss…"

Lily was utterly confused, and Xenia must have realised it. She got to her feet and smiled:

"Don't worry about it… It is just easier for me to think aloud, it makes it clearer for me… Shall we go back to the castle?"

Lily nodded, still frowning. The Slytherin reduced the book and put it into her robe's pocket, and the two girls walked down the walkway toward Hogwarts' scintillating windows.

"Ouch!" Xenia exclaimed, and at that very moment both of them heard a thud, as something hit the ground.

"What was that?" Lily asked, while the Slytherin rushed forward. In about five meters the two of them stumbled over James Potter who lay on the ground. He was curled into the fetal position and seemed asleep.

The girls didn't have time to understand what was happening or do anything about it (although Lily supposed that it was easier for Xenia to do, what with her being linked to James mentally) before Scorpius Malfoy jumped down from somewhere, looking completely zonked out.

"Potter, are you a total idiot?" the Slytherin, ignoring the two girls entirely, headed for his friend. Lily was about to do the same – after all, he had fallen from a tree – but the strong Firewhiskey smell and the matching bottle sticking out of Scorpius' pocket stopped her in her tracks. What dunces they were! "I told you that hedgehogs did not use their spines to fly, you shaggy chipmunk!"

Scorpius attempted to rouse James, who merely pushed Malfoy away:

"Go sit in your fir, while I am here… waiting for Xenia… to heal all my broken bones in a blink of an eye…"

Lily turned toward the Slytherin girl who seemed ready to burst out laughing. James must be all right; otherwise, Xenia would have been hard at work, taking care of him.

"Scorpius," the Gryffindor called out to the chap as he bent over her brother. The Slytherin straightened and stared in surprise at the two girls. Great, indeed. What was it that the two of them had been celebrating? The first Saturday of the week?

"Wow, and what brings you two ladies here?" Malfoy suddenly lurched toward the girls, spreading his arms wide and embracing both of them by the neck. Lily slipped out of his grasp, unsure whether to laugh or be angry. And what with James? He did, after all, fall out of the tree. Besides…

"What were you doing up a tree?" Lily demanded, crossing her arms.

"Oh, Lily, you won't believe this…" said Scorpius, his drawl more pronounced than usual. Xenia, meanwhile, bent over James who was almost purring with pleasure. "I was walking past here and voila – a fir. So I thought, I should go and see Potter… So, we drank to the encounter… It's not like we meet on top a fir every day…"

"Malfoy, are you mental? What fir?" asked Lily, leaning back from the Slytherin's outstretched arm and forcing back Homeric laughter. "This is an oak!"

"Really?" Scorpius turned in surprise toward the tree from which he had just climbed down. "Strange things are happening here… When we climbed it, it was a fir…"

"And how much had you drunk before that?" Lily was shaking with laughter, looking at the darling, completely pickled chap. His face no longer bore the haughty expression and became even a little childish. His silvery eyes inched closer together, and his eyebrows kept soaring halfway up to his hairline.

"Not that much," Malfoy veered a little, and Lily hastily grabbed his hand. Meanwhile, Xenia was trying to prompt James to get up, while he kept saying that he "doesn't want to climb that clobbered fir, because he is no hedgehog." What hedgehogs had to do with it, Lily was going to find out later, after solving the most immediate problem – getting both chaps to the castle unnoticed and unharmed. She would have time to get mad at them later, when they were already feeling miserable with hangover, and, for James, aching all over from the fall. The Gryffindor hoped that Xenia was not going to get right to healing this drunken idiot!

Malfoy, supported by Lily, turned toward his friend, whom Xenia was getting to his feet with the help of her wand. Lily suddenly remembered the evening two years ago when her mother and Hermione practically dragged her father and Uncle Ron into the house after a boys-only smasher. Back then she and James poked plenty of fun at their parents…

"Lily…"

"What?" she slowly guided the Slytherin toward the castle, helping him stay on course. She could hear Xenia behind them explaining to James that hedgehogs typically had spines on their backs and they weren't given to climbing trees, even firs. And, anyway, what was this shared fixation on firs and hedgehogs?!

"See me off to my bedroom, eh?"

The girl snorted, unconsciously noting that, even in his inebriated state, the Slytherin was trying not to lean too hard on her. Malfoys – always the gentlemen! And pride, where would Malfoys be without their pride? A Malfoy must not be helpless, even after downing half a bottle of Firewhiskey! Yet, something prompted Lily to think that there had been more Firewhiskey there, but the empty bottles were stashed… atop the fir?

"No, Malfoy, no dice. If only because you are sloshed and dirty to boot…"

"You are going to abandon me?" his eyebrows once again flew up in an unimaginable fashion. "Alone, miserable…"

"No," she grinned, looking back at Xenia. "You will not be alone… I reckon you and James can continue your little banquet in the Room of Requirement. And if you wish for it really hard, maybe a fir will show up in there, too…"

Malfoy pondered that:

"A good idea, by the way…"

Lily suppressed a chuckle – tomorrow she would throw both of them a party. With firs and hedgehogs!


	89. Part XI - Chapter 1 - James Potter

**Part Eleven. Aid of the Spider**

_**Chapter 1. James Potter.**_

Awakening brought with it terrible ache in his entire body and a ton of questions blasting apart his head, which for some reason, was feeling quite heavy.

He had no desire or energy to open his eyes or to move at all. It seemed that, should he move, the world would come to an end. Or, at least, it would be the end of him, James, Sirius Potter.

He lay still, pinpointing his sensations: pulling ache in his right arm, throbbing ache in the right hip, shooting pain in his shoulder, and splitting pain in his head. He was lying on something not particularly soft, but not extremely hard either. Next to him was something warm and seemingly soft. Slumberous breathing. Smell… Damn, why did he have to get so drunk last night?!

"Potter, if you flinch like that again, I shall pull an Avada on you… when I am able…"

So, the situation was becoming clearer. Next to him was Malfoy. Therefore, he was not the only one suffering the consequences of yesterday.

"Listen," the Gryffindor moaned, "where are we?"

"Open your own eyes and look – I entrust that mission to you…"

"Malfoy, don't be selfish…"

The Slytherin uttered a weak sound, but even so, the disdain in his voice was evident:

"I would have done you this service, Potter, but, you see, I am lying nose down and to survey our abode I would have to move… Slytherins are not capable of such feats of valor even for the sake of saving humankind…"

James would have chuckled – Malfoy, even in his sorry state, did not lose his signature style – had he had energy left for such emotions.

"All right, then, there are three items on our agenda," James didn't even have the strength to argue. His whole body was hurting as though Hagrid and his Frenchwoman had been tap dancing on him last night.

"Only three?" Malfoy also seemed to be avoiding any movement. "You should stay away from the drink, Potter…"

"Where are we? Why are we in the same bed? And what day and time is it now?"

"Which question do you want answered first?" the Slytherin asked in polite, albeit a little muffled, voice.

"All of them," James realised that he would not get any answers unless he looked around, and he was terribly afraid that the light would be piercing to his eyes. His head felt as though it was splitting apart. "Why is everything hurting so much?"

"Well, _that_ is not a wonder, Potter, since yesterday you were busy learning the skill of flying without a broomstick…"

"Damn…" yes, he seemed to recall now that he had fallen off the branch upon which he was sat. "Then can I assume that you were the one to bring me here?"

"Dream on, you drunken hedgehog," Malfoy stirred, causing his friend to groan in pain. "My apologies, but my bladder cannot wait for the end of our smalltalk… And Malfoys are categorically prohibited to soil their pants after the age of two.

"Skip the details, please," James retorted, finally daring to open his eyes.

He understood at once where they were – in the Room of Requirement. Because there were no bright lights, save for the light from the logs noiselessly burning in the fireplace. Dark walls and a wide couch on which he and Malfoy now lay. Although at that precise moment the Slytherin was attempting his most tremendous feat – standing up while supporting his head with his hands.

James also saw with a grateful moan that the far wall held not only the door – possibly to the loo the Slytherin craved – but a cabinet with all manner of vials and bottles. The Gryffindor was certain that he would find there a anti-hangover potion or, at the very least, some water.

Malfoy must have thought the same, since, having exited the toilet, he headed straight for the cabinet.

"Potter, you have to thank your sister for stuffing us in here," the Slytherin took two small vials out of the cabinet and approached the still prostrate James.

He had to move his arm to take the saving remedy, open his mouth and swallow it with a grimace. James could have counted a couple hundred stars floating before his eyes as he was making all these convulsive motions; yet, the potion was sure to bring relief, at least to his head and stomach.

Malfoy, apparently, not tortured by nearly as much pain as his friend, was inspecting something in the cabinet.

"You know, it appears that we are not the first ones to use this room. And not only to recover from some excessive drinking…" the Slytherin turned toward James, holding a retort with pink fluid inside.

"And what is that, pray tell?" the Gryffindor was feeling the hangover sickness retreat gradually, and the pain in his body did not seem quite so horrible anymore, considering that every year during Quidditch matches, James was hit by Bludgers. He began to get up slowly – first one foot, the the other, sat up and stayed still, trying to control lightheadedness. He raised his hand to his eyes to look at his watch. "Busted ass of a Blast-Ended Skrewt!"

"Sorry?" Malfoy's blond eye-brows flew upward. "What was that? Did the remnants of Firewhiskey make you bear forth such creative expletives?"

"It is half past eleven in the morning!" James attempted to get to his feet, and his left one immediately responded with ache in his thigh. "The Quidditch practice! I missed the practice! Williams will nail me to the Fat Lady's portrait. He is walking around cross as it is…"

"Because of?" Malfoy was still studying the vial in his hand.

"Rose, probably… As far as I understand," James finally struggled to his feet and planted them firmly in the floor, "they had a row…"

Malfoy grinned:

"How timely… Potter, you are not itching to go to Quidditch practice, are you?"

"I am too late," the Gryffindor retorted. "What is this potion? Your face does not bode well…"

"Quite the opposite," Malfoy smirked, putting the vial away in his robes pocket. "This is the Decisiveness Potion…"

"Wow!" James stared at the Slytherin who headed toward the door. "And what are you going to do with it?"

"To help out you and half the Gryffindor house, what else?"

The two of them walked out into the brightly lit hallway on the sixth floor. It was, indeed, daytime already; the windows let in the autumn light. Several students were standing by the window at the far end of the hallway.

"Malfoy, you are up to something, I can see it in your eyes…"

"Of course," Scorpius snorted, taking off his robes so as not to look so disheveled. "I suggest lending a helping hand to our Head Girl and her blond boyfriend…"

"No, Malfoy, don't tell me that you want to sneak this potion to Rose or Williams," yet, James' face lit with anticipation. The Decisiveness Potion usually caused no harm – it merely induced a person to do something that he or she had long thought about but couldn't summon the courage to do.

"Weasley, to be exact," they were going down the stairs. "Because, as you can see, the potion is pink, not blue. Therefore, we do not have a choice…"

Yes, James remembered Slughorn speaking about the potion using different base ingredients for different sexes and, therefore, differing in colour. Back then, Scorpius and he couldn't wait to try the pink potion on a bloke and blue – on a girl…

"Malfoy, are you positive that Rose wants to speak to Williams and make up?" the Gryffindor fought back a smile – it had been a long time since they played a prank on anyone. Although, it was not really a prank, was it? More like an assistance to lovers who had had a tiff.

"As far as your cousin is concerned, I cannot say anything for sure; the bats in her head defy rational analysis," they reached the hallway where they had to part. James hoped to sneak unnoticed into the Gryffindor tower, and the Slytherin – into the dungeon of his House. "But from the look on Williams' face, he cannot wait to find himself alone with Weasley…"

"Malfoy!"

"What? I am not the one who needs growling at, but that blond fool who cannot find a better resolution for his heart's desire," Malfoy must have completely recovered from yesterday's adventures and craved new ones. "Ergo, I think that we can arrange a light repartee for them. Or do you mind?"

James shook his head – why not, indeed? What terrible things could come of Rose having a frank talk with Michael?

"Great. Then we have time to straighten ourselves out before lunch," Scorpius nodded toward the stairs. "You'd better start climbing – with any luck, you'll make it all the way upstairs by supper…"

James nodded, still smiling, and began his slow ascent – it was more difficult than going down. Damn, everything is hurting! Why did they get so sloshed last night and climbed the tree? And if Lily found them, why didn't she fuss over her beloved brother for having almost fallen to his death? And Xenia? Doesn't Xenia have an inkling of how badly he is feeling?

With slight resentment over such an indifference he barged into the Gryffindor common room and immediately saw Lily and Rose sitting by the fireplace and reading a scroll of parchment.

Lily loked up at James and grinned:

"Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"Yeah, keep taunting me," the chap grumbled, sinking down with relief onto the couch next to his sisters. Rose looked him over with obvious displeasure. Well, of course, his robes is covered with dirt and he can use a fresh shirt; but, at least, his hair did not need any extra attention. "What are you studying there?"

"A tutorial on how to break boys of drinking Firewhiskey on school grounds," Lily looked a little crossly at her brother. "I just don't understand why you and Scorpius began to drink so heavily all of a sudden?"

James didn't say anything, but merely shrugged his shoulders. It made him wince.

"Jim," Rose stared at him severely, and the chap silently groaned, "I didn't catch you red-handed, but trust me – if I ever do, I shall go to Faust at once. This is completely over the line… You behave like a spoiled child! Lives are ruined all around you, people disappear, pain and fear abound – and there you are, drinking and frolicking as though the world is one big happy place!"

"Rose, I see no reasons to get moldy over all that," James grinned. "If we all live with faces like you have right now, we shall all go mad…"

"James! Have you drunk yourself out of your wits?" Lily tossed a newspaper in his lap. The first page featured Kingsley, telling the details of the werewolf attack on the Diagon Alley bar. Three people dead, two – bitten, five attackers – captured or killed. "One of those who died – the father of Green, the Fourth Year. He went home today…"

James' felicity evaporated in an instant. He looked around for the first time and noticed the lost looks on the other Gryffindors' faces. Some gathered into small groups; others sat by themselves, their shoulders slumped glumly.

"And Albus is sick, too," Lily added quietly, passing her brother the roll of parchment that she and Rose had been reading. It was a letter from James' father. Familiar handwriting wound down the scroll. The letter was short – Father was never into lengthy epistles. It ended with a warning for the children to be careful and a request to James to look after his sisters and brothers and be vigilant. Pangs of guilty conscience were now added to the aches in his body.

James was not worried about Al – his brother always got sick with the first snow. Before, however, their mother was there to take care of him. The chap hoped that Hermione and other Weasley magic experts would help his dad to get Albus well. Besides, his little brother had Sticky Joe – an indispensable aide for any childhood ailment.

James turned around at the sound of the opening door. Williams walked in, followed by other members of the Quidditch team. Anything but this! James realised that by the end of the upcoming unpleasant conversation with the team's captain, he would be ready not only to slip him the Decisiveness potion, but to top it off with _Silencio_ and _Petrificus Totalus_ spells.

While Michael was giving his Seeker a piece of his mind regarding his absence at the practice (down to a threat to kick him off the team), James caught the slightly embarrassed way in which Rose occasionally glanced at the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Yes, Malfoy might very well have had a point – slipping Rose the potion could entertain them, as well as help her, always so caught up in other people's problems, to sort out her personal life. Mayhap, Williams would get an additional incentive to beat the Slytherin house?

"What's the stupid smile about, Potter?!" Michael boiled up, catching James' smirk. To be fair, the smirk must have been ill-timed, because the Sixth Year looked about to burst with righteous indignation. "You think I cannot find another Seeker?!"

"Michael, stop yelling," Rose asked calmly, looking at her friend from under her eyelashes. The other fell silent at once, dropping his gaze.

"You know what, Williams?" James stretched his aching leg and grinned. "I am almost certain that you cannot… Because you do want to be the captain of the winning team, do you not? And now, if you'll excuse me – I need to go and change, and your bawling made my headache worse."

James got up as smoothly as he could manage and headed for the stairs. Lily caught up with him at the fourth step.

"Jim, should you, maybe, go see Madam Pomfrey? Or, at least, call Xenia?" She held her brother's hand while he struggled with the steep flight of stairs.

"No, it's alright," James smiled at his sister. "It'll pass…"

"Sorry. It was me who asked Xenia not to treat you yesterday…"

"So it was the two of you who stuffed Malfoy and me into the Room of Requirement and abandoned us there?" they were standing at the top of the stairs next to the Seventh Years' bedroom.

Lily nodded, her teeth worrying her lower lip:

"I was very angry at you both… I suppose you deserved what you got. But now… You are in pain, aren't you?"

The youth merely jerked his shoulders, turned on his heel and headed for his room, hoping that his sister would suffer cruelly from guilty conscience.


	90. Part XI - Chapter 2 - Lily Potter

_**Chapter 2. Lily Potter.**_

She spent the time before lunch feeling a little down in the mouth. Because of the newspaper article, because of Albus, because of James' missed practice and him not feeling too well. Should she really have been that tough on him, not letting Xenia treat his bruises? Yes, she should have! James and Malfoy were way out of line. Especially, given that the world beyond Hogwarts was crumbling down.

Lily tried to imagine what had happened at the Eloise's. She knew that Teddy Lupin frequented the place, although, according to her father, Teddy was not there at the time. That, at least, was a relief. Her dad seemed to be all right as well, although Lily feared that he was with the Aurors who were called to the scene almost immediately.

The girl looked up at Rose who was writing her Muggle Studies essay. Then Lily glanced at Michael Williams who was sat in the corner with Shitzko Chang and another classmate, deeply in conversation. What is going on with those two? Lily heard the rumors of Rose and Michael dating and even seen kissing; yet those rumors did not mesh well with their apparent estrangement and her cousin's words about them just being friends.

"Rose, what are you doing after dinner?" Lily set aside the almost finished Potions essay.

"I will need to find Healer Mancilli; I missed the class yesterday," Rose smiled gently at her cousin. "And you?"

"I don't know," Lily shrugged her shoulders. "I guess, I will need to ascertain that Malfoy is alive and almost well, and then give him a piece of my mind about their horseplay yesterday... Listen, do you know of a link between firs and hedgehogs?"

Rose smiled in surprise:

"What? I don't think so… Fir is a tree, and hedgehogs… are hedgehogs… Why do you ask?"

"It seems that Scorpius and James have an ide fixe about that," I was just trying to figure out what it is about…"

"Are you sure that Malfoy and your brother can be figured out at all?" Rose closed the textbook and put it next to her bag. "It doesn't seem that way to me… Take, for instance, today: James knew that he had practice this morning and still got smashed last night, according to you, since he ended up in a tree… Despite everything… The Aurors are patrolling the school grounds, professors are extra vigilant, and those two are completely oblivious to all that. Therefore, they are really the only ones who can link firs and hedgehogs…"

As far as Lily was concerned, her cousin had a point. It was difficult to figure out Scorpius Malfoy. Take for instance their last argument – over what Rose had said of him. He was so willing to accept that he couldn't be truly loved, that he was too horrible to deserve love. He was so ready to give her up, to let her go, to release his claim on her heart. To forget their silver forest… Still – would he have forgotten? Lily wasn't sure. What if Scorpius Malfoy's mystery would always remain unsolved to her?

If he he could have so easily – although was it really so easy for him, given what happened in the Slytherin common room? – accepted her possible rejection of him, what were his true feelings for her? Lily was hoping fervently that he loved her; she was searching for confirmation of her hope in his every gaze, word, and action. Yet, how could she see into this strange and complex man's heart? How could she look past his sarcasm and taunts into his soul? Would he ever open up to her?

Lily was sure that his bewilderment at her refusal to reject him after she found out about the Zabinis had been genuine. He was relieved when she held him. Scorpius Malfoy did not expect to be loved. Why? Had no one ever loved him? It was not possible. On the other hand, considering what she had seen of his family during her brief stay at the Malfoy Manor – the unpleasant father, full of disdain, and a cold aristocratic mother – it was not that hard to believe.

Charlotte joined them at the table, her eyes shining with anticipation:

"Have you heard?!"

Rose smiled at her blonde cousin who looked so much like her mother, Fleur. Lily could just imagine the shocking news they were about to receive – Shelley was the unabating fountain of school gossip. She knew everything about everyone.

"Well?" Rose was looking expectantly at her cousin.

"You haven't, then," Charlotte grinned, moving closer to her cousins. "I was just talking to Caitlyn, who had visited with Hagrid, who told her in secret that McGonagall invited Beauxbaton students to the Christmas Ball. Can you imagine? Boys!"

Lily chuckled, watching Shelley's eyes shining with enthusiasm and impatience.

"I would expect the girls come also," Rose added softly. "Although I wouldn't be surprised if it was mere hearsay… After all, Britain is not the safest place right now…"

"It IS true!" Shelly was indignant. "The Beauxbaton's headmistress personally wrote to Hagrid!"

"I am not sure," Rose said doubtingly. "Why would they be invited?"

"I wonder if the Durmstrung students will also be invited," Caitlyn sat down next to the girls. She had already put her school robe over her jeans and sweater. "Well, Hogwarts and the other two schools belong to the wizarding education partnership, after all. It will be strange is Beauxbaton kids come and kids from Durmstrung," Caitlyn rolled her eyes and sighed dreamily, "are not invited. I heard that the boys who go there are soooo cool…"

Lily snorted:

"Kate, we have boys here also who are soooo cool, and you don't really need to import them from Durmstrung, do you?"

"I think that it is all gossip," Rose concluded, getting up. "And, besides, Caitlyn, with your grades you should be focusing more on studies and less – on fetes and boys."

"Rosie, darling, but I have _you_ to think about my studies," Caitlyn laughed, hugging her cousin. "And I shall be thinking of boys – for both of us…"

Lily looked at her cousins, smiling, until she caught a wistful glance that Michael cast in their direction.

"All right, I think it is time for us to go to dinner," Rose began to collect her books. "Lil, you ought to go and wake up James, because he has likely gone into hibernation, like a bear in winter…"

"I wonder if he looks just as cute, sucking on his paw," Shelley winked playfully at Lily. "Shall I wake him up?"

Lily shrugged her shoulders – why not? – and Charlotte, followed by Caitlyn, ran merrily toward the boys' bedrooms.

"You should not have sent them there," Rose shook her head. "Because I think they shouldn't treat Jim the way they do…"

"Oh, come on, Rose, they are just having fun…"

The girls stacked their things on a corner table so that they wouldn't have to take them upstairs, and headed for the Great Hall.

"Hello, Lily," the girls turned around – Greg Gregory caught up to them, as always, impeccably dressed and combed. "Hello," he nodded at Rose whom he must have met before.

"Hello, Greg," the Gryffindors smiled at him. Lily was grateful to the youth for supporting her when she broke into the Slytherin common room. Besides, she used to like him until the incident at the Three Broomsticks. "I haven't thanked you for helping me out…"

Rose looked in surprise at her slightly abashed cousin, while Greg merely nodded, smiling:

"You are always welcome."

"All right, guys, I am going to go," Rose left them alone at the door to the Great Hall.

"Were the Slytherins who saw me in your common room very put out?" Lily was nervously fingering the edge of her robes.

"Well… I don't think it is a good idea for you to come back there, because no matter how much power Scorpius Malfoy wields, he may not always manage to get there in time to protect you," Greg was smiling softly at the Gryffindor. "I wanted to ask you…"

"Yes?" Lily raise her eyes to his face.

"You… are you still angry for what happened in Hogsmead last time?"

"No, not at all," she laughed. "It is alright. It was not your fault."

"I read about your father and the werewolves being after your family," Greg looked at Lily with concern. "If you need any help, I…"

"Well-well-well…"

They turned around – Scorpius Malfoy stood at the exit from the dungeons, his arms crossed. He wore a light-grey sweater and tight jeans and looked rested and alert. His silvery wand glittered in his fingers.

Malfoy looked pointedly over Lily and Greg and then began to walk unhurriedly toward them, his eyes on Lily. She held his gaze steadily, although the corners of her lips pulled up in a hint of a smile.

"Hello, Malfoy," Lily could see the light glimmer in his eyes. "How are you feeling today?"

"Oh, thank you, Ms. Potter, I am just terrific," the Slytherin replied. Then he stepped toward her and pulled her roughly against him in a proprietary gesture that almost immediately caused Lily to push him away. "Gregory, would you excuse us for a moment?"

Lily saw how embarrassed Greg looked as he turned and headed for the Slytherin table.

"Well, what was all that?" she looked a little crossly at the Slytherin. "Are you going to snap at anyone you see me talking to from now on?"

"Not just anyone, but Gregory," Malfoy corrected her. "By the way, this sweater is very becoming on you…"

"Don't change the topic," Lily demanded, stepping back and pointing a finger at his chest. "You listen to me, Scorpius Malfoy. You can treat your house elves and fan club this way, but I will talk to whomever I want, whenever I want, got it? And don't you glare at me like that; you haven't yet been forgiven for the yesterday's carouse with hedgehogs atop a fir…"

Lily, satisfied with the slightly stunned look on his face – he was just so cute! – walked over to her table, ignoring his eyes boring into her back.

"What have you done with Malfoy?" Rose saw the Slytherin practically sink to the bench next to Xenia, narrowly avoiding stabbing the guy on his other side with a fork. "Or did he see you with Gregory?"

Lily merely nodded, smiling. Her brother entered the Great Hall, sleepy and disheveled, dressed in a t-shirt with the picture of a big black dog. James walked over to the Slytherin table and began to converse with Malfoy in whispers. Then he smiled widely, nodded, and was soon squeezing between Lily and Rose on the bench, looking quite pleased with himself.

"How are you feeling?" Lily passed him a plate of meat. "Maybe you still should…"

"No, I am fine," her brother said, probably out of sheer stubbornness, since he sported a huge purple bruise on his arm. Lily wondered if he put on a short-sleeved T-shirt, so that she and Xenia could see the memento of his suffering. Just like a child, really!

"Well, I am glad," the girl tried to hide her smile as she turned back to her plate. James was shifting uneasily next to her, trying to find a pain-free seating position. Lily moved aside a little to give him more room and heard his "thank you".

"James, you are like a mammoth!" Rose suddenly exclaimed. Lily looked up – her brother had knocked over her cousin's goblet and the pumpkin juice spilled all over the table cloth.

"What's a mammoth?" James asked, confused, while reaching for another goblet and filling it with juice. Rose occupied herself with cleaning the table cloth with her wand. "Here, I didn't mean to do it."

Rose shook her head as though implying that her cousin was beyond all help, and took the goblet he handed her:

"Mammoths, James, are extinct mammals – big, furry and inherently clumsy… I think that you may be related to them," the girl drank some juice from her goblet and turned toward Caitlyn who had just walked up and sat down. "And where is Shelley?"

"Must be still watching Thomas changing in the bedroom," James suggested, chuckling, which almost made Rose choke on her juice and Caitlyn burst into laughter.

"Jim, it's not a laughing matter, really," Rose reproached him.

"I am not laughing, Cat is," the Gryffindor winked at his younger cousin behind Rose's back. Rose finished her juice and stood up. "Where are you going?"

"I have plenty of things to do, James. Just because you cannot find anything to occupy your time, it does not mean that others live in blissful leisure," Rose waved to the Gryffindors and left the Great Hall. Lily turned toward her brother and managed to catch him grinning triumphantly at Scorpius Malfoy. What are they up to again?


	91. Part XI - Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

_**Chapter 3. Harry Potter.**_

_What eyes are these that see_

_The pain I know in my innermost soul?_

_"Homeland" R. Salvatore_

He stood in the bedroom that he had begun to call his and looked out the window. The moon. Looking at it, once again, brought nothing but memories. And thoughts of Ron, who had, it seemed, long been gone from his life. Or, maybe it didn't just seem that way…

His hair, damp after a shower, fell onto his forehead, distracting him from watching the moon. Harry raised his hand and brushed it back. The body reacted with slight pain in his shoulder. He looked down and saw the fresh cut from a curse in the twilight.

His body still remembered the excitement of the battle. The oh so familiar sense of danger, when the nerves are stretched to the limit; when each thought is about striking first, before someone strikes at you; when you are tense as a bow, as the spell glimmers at the tip of your wand, ready to blast off. And that instant, when the jet departs from the wand – stretches an instant into an eternity. Inhale, exhale, death, life.

He was on duty when the news of the bloody battle at the bar on Diagon Alley reached him. Five Aurors were on duty down there, and they must have sent the distress signal right away. No one could forbid Harry Potter to go there, into the thick of the battle, where others were fighting his enemies, those responsible for killing his wife and ruining the lives of his friends.

There were eleven of them: eight wolves and with them – three masked wizards. How familiar to him were those eye slits and mask-muted voices. And Harry completely lost himself; he could not recollect afterward anything of what had happened. The wizards tried not to let the Aurors near the bar where the massacre was going on, but the Ministry had numbers on their side. They broke through the defense line, throwing killing spells at the werewolves, binding them with ropes, aiming at the eyes and leg joints.

Harry remembered one of the wizards who was covering the werewolves drop dead, but could not say who killed him. Two other wizards threw a net over the remaining werewolves and Disapparated with them. What remained became the Ministry's booty – a dead wizard and a dead werewolf, who turned out to be a woman, as well as three desperately resisting wolves, who were immediately sent to the lower levels of the Department of Mysteries. Healers had to practically chase Harry Potter all over the blood-covered floor in order to make him take off his shirt. It turned out that one of the wizards nicked him with a spell.

Then it took them till after midnight to deal with reports, the victims, the captives, and the press – Kingsley finally resorted to snatching the microphone out of the hands of an over-eager reporter. Harry managed to send owls to his children and Hermione who stayed home with Albus, to keep them from worrying sick upon reading the newspapers.

He returned to the quiet house where a candle was left burning in the living room. On the kitchen table a covered plate with supper was waiting for him, and under the plate – a drawing that Albus made for him. Harry ate tiredly and went up to his bedroom, feeling empty inside. It came to him, as a distant memory, that Ginny never went to bed before he returned home. He was very cross with her for it in the beginning, but then he got used to it. Used to returning to the house where someone was waiting for him.

Here, he was awaited also, but in a different way; by being given freedom. Freedom to return when he needed the warmth of the hearth, without the concern that someone was not sleeping because of him; without the guilt for not being home.

He stood before the window, looking at the moonlight playing over patches of snow. A pumpkin was displayed in front of the house across the street, reminding that it was two days before Halloween. A dog barked in the distance; a solitary car drove by.

Harry raised his arm and ran his fingers over the fresh scab. He refused a bandage – the cut was too superficial. A log fell apart in the fireplace. Fire filled the room with warmth and light, yet Harry was feeling slight chills, perhaps due to the release of the tension that he felt all day. Moonlight fell on his scar-lined chest, on his arms as he stood, hands thrust in his pockets.

He didn't want to sleep. Waning moon, peeking through the clouds, made him strangely anxious. Besides, why sleep, if dreams brought no peace anyway?

Recalling something, Harry took his wand from the bed-side table and put the muffling spell on the room. He didn't want Hermione or Albus hear him scream in his sleep. He did it every night now, wanting to spare them worry. He didn't want someone else, innocent of any evil, to see what he was seeing.

Day after day. The tunnel. The faces. The breathing.

Night after night. As though a battle was waged, with his soul at stake. Dumbledore. Voldemort. The werewolf's mother. The boy himself. Lupin. Greyback…

Harry closed his eyes, feeling his heart slamming in his chest. Then he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, in an attempt to hold off the rush of memories. But when he was tired or nervous, they had an easier time getting through and undermining his will.

He moaned, knowing that he was becoming drowned in guilt once again. Scenes, images, voices… With every day since Ginny died, they became sharper, brighter, more agonizing. This must be how he would meet his end. One day, he simply would not have the strength to come back, to surface, to push this hell further into the back of his mind and soul.

And only one thought beat inside his head: let it be soon. Because this was unbearable… Because at moments like this he was unable to think about his children and his other loved ones. He couldn't think at all.

Warm hands touched his shoulders. Harry realised that he had sunken to the floor, his head buried in his knees, like so many times before when he tried to hide from himself.

Hermione.

"Why are you hiding?" she whispered, crouching before him, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Why are you forcing yourself to be alone with this abyss?"

"Because it is my abyss," Harry answered, acutely aware of her tender palms on his shoulders. "Why are you not sleeping?"

"Some noise woke me up. I was lying in bed thinking that it must be you coming in… Then I decided to go and make sure everything was okay," she looked down and must have seen the fresh scab on Harry's shoulder. "My God, Harry, have you been hurt?"

"It's nothing," he got to his feet, moving away. As though fencing himself off. No, rather fencing her from him. Harry turned, looking at the moon, unable to look away.

"There are _Muffliato_ charms here," she said suddenly. He turned toward her – she was holding his wand that she must have picked up off the floor. "Harry, why are you doing this? Why do you try to close yourself off? Why are you pushing away people… me?"

He recoiled from her, from her voice.

"Because it is not right, I do not want you to become a part of my world. It will ruin you…"

"Before, I was always a part of your world," she remarked calmly.

Harry closed his eyes tiredly:

"Before, you had Ron, who could always come and take you away… Before, you had your own world to which you could easily return…"

He started when he felt her breath on his face. Her eyes reflected the moonlight.

"You don't let me into your world, and I understand why…" she whispered, suddenly reaching out and touching his cheek. Harry couldn't bear this caress any more than he could pull away from her hand. "Then let me take you with me into my world, if only for a little while…"

Her world? What did she mean? Harry was breathing heavily, completely lost. He wanted her to leave, to leave him to himself, to his hell, to never touch that abyss, to never know what it was like…

Her hand pressed against his scarred chest. Harry opened his eyes and watched her finger trace along the lines.

"It seems to me that these scars and welts show not only the wounds on your skin, but those in your soul as well; except that there, for some reason, they don't heal like they do here…" she whispered, raising her eyes to him. "I never thought you had so many scars… I only remembered two for sure… This one," she pointed at a welt at the crook of his elbow, where Wormtail's knife once cut in, "and this," she showed at the back of his hand, where, even after all those years, one could still discern the words burnt into his flesh: _I must not tell lies_. "Harry, the past is gone, only the scars remain. Do you see? You world must become the past. Let them go, let go…"

Harry was gasping for air, unsure of why she was saying all this. Why she stood so close, so lonely, yet so strong… He never had that much strength. The strength to survive and forget, to move on, to keep on living…

"Hermione, don't…" he breathed, feeling tears spring into his eyes. "There is nothing you can do to help me…"

"I can and I will, whatever it takes," she said firmly, embracing him. "Harry, you are the only one who was always near, who always understood me, who always trusted me. You are the only one in whom I always believed wholly, without a shadow of a doubt… You are the only one, do you see?"

"Hermione, no…" he was embracing her too, unable to tell her that he did not want to, that he could not. He once let Ginny into his life only to push her away when facing his enemies became imminent. He couldn't do that to Hermione. Because she would not accept his decision the way Ginny did. She would go into the deciding battle alongside him, and he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't lose Hermione as well, having only begun to find her. "You are simply tired, and you are feeling lonely…"

He didn't know which one of them did it first, but next thing he knew they were kissing one another tenderly. For the first time they were so close. For the first time they were as aware of that closeness. For the first time they understood how important it was for them, and how much they needed it.

Ron no longer stood between them. He must have been right about something, although what it was, Harry wasn't sure at the moment. He knew that he loved and would always love Ginny. And Hermione… Hermione was simply Hermione. The first one to hug him; the first one to believe in him; the first one to give him hope.

He pulled away from her lips, still feeling her hands on his back, the taste of her kiss, familiar, yet new, the beating of her heart, the sparkle in her eyes. Harry buried his face in her neck, breathing in the smell of her, familiar, giving peace and hope. Giving hope once again; as before; as many years ago.

Hermione took his hand and led him toward the bed. They held each other again as they drifted off to sleep. Harry felt her next to him, and he knew that she would protect him from everything. Because she alone always knew who he really was. She alone saw the real him. Only she. Hermione.

Morning burst into his sun-filled mind with a rap on the window. Hermione stirred next to him, unlocking the embrace in which she held him all night long. Harry slid from under the blanket, found his glasses, and went to open the window to let in a disheveled yellow-eyed owl. He took the letter and exhaled with a whoosh.

"Harry?"

He slowly opened the letter.

"What's in it?" Hermione got up and walked over to him, looking at the letter over his arm. They both knew very well the jerky handwriting of the few lines before them: _"The werewolves are planning to attack the Burrow tonight. Harry, beware, they have infiltrated the Ministry. They will be able to lift the protective spells."_

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

"Ron…" she breathed, paling. "He is among them?"

Harry wasn't thinking about that as he handed her the letter and rushed to get dressed. He couldn't let the tunnel of this hell, from which he had been given a short reprieve last night, become any longer.


	92. Part XI - Chapter 4 - Theodic

_**Chapter 4. Theodic.**_

Mood. It is a weakness. It has to be overcome. With willpower.

Theo did not go down to dinner. He stood in front of the window in his room. He was angry. At what? He just was.

Feelings. Uncontrollable feelings. They are a weakness also. They have to be repressed.

He had been learning to do this. For years. Learning to be strong. To only trust himself. Just so. Without pain. Without betrayal.

Thank you, Momma. You taught me to be strong. You forced me. You forced me to cross that line. To stop being weak. Being vulnerable.

Snow. He didn't like snow. And wind. And rain. He didn't like them. But he tolerated them.

He didn't like water. He just didn't. The reason was simple. The other man. He tried to teach Theo how to swim. Theo hated the water. Because _he_ liked it.

Theo turned and walked away from the window. Gloom. Calm and pleasant. Nothing irritating. Then – why the anger?

Dumbledore? No. Dumbledore was his usual self. Smiles. Lemon drops. Hints.

The Ministry? No. They are even simpler. They do not want Legilements. An army of werewolves. Against their own kind. Stubborn. Stupid.

What is it then? And why?

Mood – it is a weakness.

A knock on the door. Theo stood up. He looked around him.

"Enter."

SHE. Standing in the doorway. Determined. Strong. He was gazing at HER admiringly again. What a sight for sore eyes.

"May I, Healer Mancilli?" looking at him.

"I have already said – enter."

One step. Another. She shut the door. The two of them in the twilight. Ought to turn on the light.

No.

"I wanted to apologize for missing the class yesterday," smiling ruefully.

"They passed your apologies along yesterday."

"Still," smiling.

"When can I make up the class?"

Waiting. Make it up? What for? She is not falling behind. She is ahead of the group.

"Are you certain that you need it?"

Smiles. Nods.

"Are you free now?" asking.

No. He is angry. Teaching is the last thing on his mind.

"You said it yourself that one needs to practice constantly. I wouldn't want to lose the skills that I have already obtained," still smiling. "Of course, if you are busy, I can seek out Dan or Steve. I am sure they would help me."

"They are too weak for you," Theo came close. "Let's practice your block."

Nods. Furrows her brow. Concentrates. Theo gazes admiringly. SHE is ready.

Theo took out his wand. "Legilemens." Resistance. Average. But good. He still got in.

Light. A lot of light. Laughter. Loud laughter. Hot sand. Breakers. A kite flying high in the sky. Laughter. Light. The Park. Greenery. Wet trails. The smell of rain. Laughter. The taste of ice cream. Light…

Sharp block. Nudge. Theo shrank back. Lost his focus. Only for a moment or two.

Mother. She is laughing. The Christmas tree. A lanky puppy. Damp tongue. Barking. Laughter…

He closed his mind. Panting.

SHE is smiling softly. A bit pale.

SHE broke through his block. Used his weakness. And gained strength.

"It turns out you are good at pretending," she stepped closer. "Or at lying to yourself."

Theo didn't respond. Shock. An unusual feeling. A feeling of someone alien inside his mind.

"No one has ever done this before, have they? Being in your mind… Showing you your own memories," SHE is happy about something. Something about HER is off. A sparkle in her eyes. Her lips. Her face.

"You are definitely making progress," Theo crossed his arms. "You have learned how to exploit another's momentary weakness."

"Not weakness, but mellowness," a gentle correction. Smiling. What about?

"Same thing."

"No. Mellowness is a state of mind and soul. Weakness, to you – is deviating from the bizarre norm of behaviour that you have adopted"

"Strange?" Theo frowned. "What is so strange about my behaviour?"

SHE smiles softly. Takes another step closer.

"Do you consider yourself a strong person? Not a strong Legilement – that much is obvious… A strong person."

"The two cannot be separated."

"Yes, they are," shaking her head. Hair fanning out over the shoulders. "A Legilement cannot afford a moment of vulnerability," smiling. "But a person must be vulnerable at least once in a while."

"It is your opinion," Theo shrugged his shoulders.

"Cannot it be yours too?" another step. Freckles on her nose. A thin chain around her neck. Shiny hair. "What do you consider a weakness, Healer?"

"Everything that makes us vulnerable."

"Really? Love? Friendship? Devotion? Faith?»

Theo merely nodded once.

"That is odd," SHE is no longer smiling. "But these are not weakness, they are one's true strength. Does love not give us the strength to live? Do friends not give us the strength to fight on, support us when we are down? Does not devotion to our mission," smiling again, "make us stronger? Is not faith in the best in people – even in those who don't believe that about themselves – strength?"

"Does not betrayal of devotion make us weak?" Theo was breathing heavily. "Does not ruined faith make us weak? Do not those who were once our friends make us weak when they turn their back on us?"

SHE was so close. Her eyes are ablaze. With what? Determination.

"Our strength is in our ability to stay true to ourselves and be vulnerable sometimes, to preserve the light, even if we are forced to believe in the darkness," speaking softly. Slowly. Looking him straight in the eye. Does not block him. Believes. Trusts him. That he would not dare. "Someone must have shown you the seamy side of human emotions and you somehow decided that all that is weakness. Yet, even strong people can feel passionately. And you know it."

Theo was silent. He was simply looking. Not gazing admiring. Looking. And listening.

"Today you were angry for some reason. I felt it. And it is not a weakness – it is being human. To be true to ourselves, to hope for the best. Or is such faith – also weakness?"

Theo remained silent.

"Why are you so quiet?" she smiles. "Or is being talkative also means you are weak?"

Takes a step. Past him. Stands a bit behind him. Theo turned after her. She is looking. Looking out the window.

"Can we really know what is true strength and what is weakness?" she turned a little. Closer to him. It is unsettling. Yet, Theo does not budge. Does not yield. Does not move away. "Take my father, for instance… Everybody thought he was weak. I thought him weak, vulnerable, but didn't love him less for it. It was just who he was… And now… He just left. Is it weakness or strength? I don't know… And no one knows, I think… And Uncle Harry… Everyone always thought him strong, able to bear anything. Yet, at Aunt Ginny's… funeral… he was vulnerable… But is it the weakness that you were talking about, Theo?"

He started. Her eyes are full of memories. Longing. Light.

"Is it really so important to be strong when no one demands it from you? And must one be strong always?"

Theo closed his eyes. So he wouldn't see. Wouldn't see her strength. The strength that has become his vulnerability.

"Many people have told me that I am strong. I suppose it is true… Yet, even strong people want to be vulnerable sometimes. They want to lean on somebody else for support. Just to rest a little… To be defenseless and vulnerable for a change. Theo, haven't you ever felt that?"

He looked. At her. At her vulnerability. For sadness is a vulnerability. For emotions – those emotions – are a vulnerability. She needs someone's strength. His strength?

"You are also vulnerable, no matter how much you want to claim the opposite," her voice hardened. "I saw your memories. Your pain… I saw how you look at me."

Theo turned sharply around. Such merciless eyes she has. The eyes that were the first to peer into his darkness. And they saw it. The light.

"Thank you for the practice," she suddenly headed for the door. "And forgive me if I wasted your time."

She was already by the door.

"If you need my help, Miss Weasley, don't hesitate to ask."

She turned around. Smiled.

"And if you need mine, I shall always be happy to help."

Theo nodded. Took a step. Another.

They left the room together. A brightly-lit hallway. They walked along in silence.

"Why were named 'Theodic'?"

"I don't know."

He didn't feel like talking. A hallway. Two students. Familiar faces. James Potter. And his friend. Surprise?

"Hello, boys," she smiles. They do not respond. Staring at Theo.

And he simply walked by. Not touching them. Not answering the challenge. The challenge he saw in their eyes.

He was weak. He was inexcusably weak today. Yet, he once again had faith. Faith in her. And hope. After fifteen years. He allowed himself to be vulnerable again.

**So, this should allay the fears of those who thought that Rose's interference with Lily indicated an ulterior motive. :) I find the Theodic chapters very hard to translate - especially the switching between the narrator's flow and his own thoughts. Also, "weakness" and "vulnerability" in Russian are often interchangeable words (or even the same one), whereas here it is very important to use the correct one. If anyone thinks I am not doing it right, please let me know. I think I will go back and review the other Theodic chapters for this issue... Anyway, his story is beginning to take shape, yes? :)**

**To answer a review question, no, this is not even close to the end. We have four more eight-chapter parts and the three-chapter epilogue after this part is over (after another four chapters). Hang in there! Lots more to happen. It's like the pregnancy - just when you think you cannot get any bigger - the baby gets a growth spurt! :)**

**For those who do not like the Harry/Hermione pairing - sorry, I am only an English-speaking mouthpiece! There are so many fanfics even just on this site, I am sure everyone can find their favorite pairings and their treatment. _Sphinx_ simply provided one of each and I liked it a lot. Not for everyone, of course.**


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